Chapter 5: Denial Protocol

The beeping stopped, but the red letters pulsed on the screen like a warning beacon.

*Cannot override legal spouse.*

I slammed the laptop shut, the sudden silence in the kitchen ringing in my ears. My hands were shaking so violently I had to grip the edge of the island to steady them.

Bigamy.

The word was a jagged stone in my throat. It wasn't possible. It was absurd. Richard Vane was many things—charming, financially inept, terrified of his mother—but a criminal mastermind running a two-decade-long double life? He couldn't even remember to put the trash cans out on Tuesday.

I grabbed my phone. I needed to call him. I needed to hear his voice, hear him laugh at the ridiculous computer error, explain how the SSA database had merged with some other Richard Vane.

My finger hovered over his contact. *My Rock.*

But then I remembered the text message. *Is it done?*

If I called him now, and he was innocent, he would panic. He would tell Eleanor. And if he told Eleanor that the insurance policy was flagged...

I put the phone down. I couldn't call him. Not yet.

I needed to fix this myself. I always fixed it myself.

I dialed the number for the insurance broker, Simon Vance. He had handled the Vane accounts since before I was part of the family. He would know.

It rang four times.

"Vance Insurance, Simon speaking." His voice was smooth, practiced, the auditory equivalent of a firm handshake.

"Simon, it's Elena. Elena Vane."

"Elena! To what do I owe the pleasure? Richard said you were handling the renewals. A marvel of efficiency, as always."

"There's a problem with the Key Man policy," I said, cutting through the pleasantries. "The portal is listing the wrong beneficiary. It has a 'Catherine Vane' listed as spouse."

There was a pause on the line. A beat of silence that lasted just a second too long.

"Ah," Simon said. His tone shifted. The professional warmth evaporated, replaced by a careful, guarded neutrality. "I see. Yes. That file."

"It's a glitch, right? Some kind of data merge error?"

"Well, Elena, these systems... they pull from federal records. It's very sophisticated."

"Simon," I snapped, my patience fraying. "I am looking at a screen that says my husband is married to his sister. Fix it."

"Elena, please. Lower your voice." I could hear him typing in the background. "The policy was originally written in 2002. The beneficiary designation was set then. It hasn't been changed."

"Because he wasn't married then! He married *me* in 2012."

"The record shows... a continuous coverage."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the primary beneficiary has remained consistent. And the spousal rider... well, it requires a death certificate or a divorce decree to remove a named spouse. We don't have either on file."

My blood ran cold. "You're telling me you have a marriage certificate on file for Richard and Catherine?"

"I'm looking at the digital archive now," Simon said, his voice tight. "It appears to be a standard license. Issued in the state of Nevada. January 2002."

Nevada. Richard had never mentioned Nevada. He hated the desert.

"Send it to me," I demanded.

"I can't do that, Elena. Privacy regulations. You're the Administrator for the *company*, but this is a personal vital record attached to the policy. Only the insured can request it."

"I am his wife!"

"According to the system..." He let the sentence hang there, unfinished. "Look, Elena. Maybe you should talk to Richard. Or Eleanor. They set this structure up long before you... arrived."

Arrived. Like I was a guest. Or an employee.

"Simon," I said, forcing my voice to be calm, deadly. "If this policy isn't renewed by midnight, the bank gets a notification of lapsed coverage. Do you want to be the one to explain to Eleanor why the construction loans were called in?"

Another pause. Longer this time.

"I'll see what I can do on the backend," he muttered. "But Elena... don't dig too deep. Some paperwork is old for a reason."

He hung up.

I stood in the middle of my beautiful, expensive kitchen, the silence pressing in on me like water. I felt lightheaded.

It was a mistake. It had to be. Simon was just covering his ass, afraid of a compliance audit. The system was glitching.

I looked at the receipts on the counter. The permission slips. The calendar on the fridge with "Zoning Board" written in my handwriting.

I was the one who managed the reality of this family. I was the one who made the numbers work. And numbers didn't lie.

But looking at the black screen of my laptop, I felt a crack form in the foundation of my life.

I walked over to the calendar. I picked up a pen. I needed to prove this was wrong. I needed evidence.

Numbers didn't lie. But people did.