David's Warning

The image of that triage note burned against Eleanor’s retinas like a flare. *One fled scene.* For five years, she had let herself believe her brother was a hero who had arrived too late. Instead, the data suggested he was a coward who had walked away while his parents' hearts still beat.

She pulled into her driveway, the gravel crunching under her tires like breaking bone. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking as she reached for her keys. She needed to get back to her spreadsheets, to the only world where logic and math could protect her from the rot of her own history.

She pushed open her front door and stopped. The scent of rain and expensive cedar met her in the foyer.

"You should really lock the side door, Eleanor. It’s a habit you never quite broke."

David stood in the archway of her kitchen. Her ex-husband looked older than when she had seen him at his firm, his eyes hollowed out by a exhaustion that matched her own. He wasn't holding a subpoena or an NDA. He was holding a glass of water, his knuckles white against the rim.

"How did you get in here, David?" Eleanor’s voice was a jagged scrape. She didn't drop her bag. She didn't move from the door.

"I still have the spare. From the month after the final decree." David stepped forward, his movements stiff and deliberate. "You need to stop, El. I saw you at the courthouse today. I saw you leaving Frank Miller’s office. You’re digging into the crash."

"My parents were murdered, David. Harrison was in that car."

"I know!" David’s voice cracked, the sound echoing in the sterile hallway. He set the glass down on the marble console with a sharp clatter. "Everyone knows! That’s the point, Eleanor. The Vance name isn't just a reputation; it's a closed system. It’s a fortress. And you’re trying to tear it down with a laptop and a sense of justice."

"I’m doing my job," she hissed. "I’m the Executor."

"No, you’re the target." David grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip desperate and pleading. He didn't look like an architect who had been bought off; he looked like a man watching a car careen off a cliff. "Arthur called me. He’s already drafting the petition to have you committed for an evaluation. He’s going to use Harrison’s 'trauma' as the lever. They will kill you, Eleanor. Professionally first, then actually."

Eleanor shoved him back, her heart slamming against her ribs. The betrayal she had felt at his firm curdled into a cold, sharp clarity. "How much did they pay you, David? To come here and scare me? Was it another half-million?"

David didn't flinch. He didn't look offended. He looked terrified. The kind of terror that only comes from knowing exactly what’s in the dark.

"He doesn't have a conscience, El," David pleaded. "Why do you think your parents paid me to leave you? They knew you'd never stop digging if I stayed."