The Zurich Protocol

"Hawthorne Construction, Elena speaking."

The voice on the other end was precise, clipped, and devoid of warmth. "Mrs. Hawthorne. This is Jean-Paul Dubois. I represent the legal interests of the Estate of A.H."

I gripped the railing of the balcony, the dawn wind whipping my hair across my mouth. Arthur's ghost hadn't even been cold for twenty-four hours, and the buzzards were already circling.

"Arthur Hawthorne passed away last night, Mr. Dubois," I said, my voice echoing the corporate steel I’d practiced for years. "The estate is in probate. You should be speaking to our primary counsel."

"I am not interested in Arthur’s public estate," Dubois replied. "I represent a separate entity. One designed to trigger upon his death or... permanent removal. Your husband was the primary beneficiary. Since he has been removed from the succession, the assets are now in the hands of the secondary heirs."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "What heirs?"

"Let us not play games, Elena. I know about the drive Corinne gave you. I know you’ve seen the records for Marcus and the others. We want a meeting in Zurich by the end of the week. If you fail to appear, the paternity tests—and the full history of Arthur’s 'contingency family'—will be sent to every news outlet in North America."

A sharp click sounded behind me.

I spun around. The glass doors of the study had slid open. Margaret stood there, framed by the shadows of the room, her eyes narrowed. She was already dressed for the board meeting, a string of pearls tight against her throat.

"Who is it?" she asked.

My thumb hovered over the end-call button. If I told her, the war wouldn't end. It would just change fronts. Margaret would burn the company down rather than let another woman’s child touch her throne. The stock would plummet. The board would revolt. My own children's future would be vaporized in the fallout.

"A vendor, Margaret," I said, my voice smooth, betrayal tasting like copper in the back of my throat. "About the plumbing in the East Wing. It's a disaster."

Dubois's breathing was heavy in my ear. I didn't hang up. I needed him to hear the lie. I needed him to know I was a player.

Margaret watched me for a long beat, her gaze lingering on the phone. "Plumbing. At six in the morning?"

"They’re in Zurich," I said, weaving the truth into the lie. "Different time zone. They’re very aggressive about their invoices."

Margaret exhaled, a sharp, dismissive sound. "Tell them to wait. We have a dynasty to stabilize. Don't let the little things distract you, Elena."

She turned and walked back into the house, the click of her heels sounding like a countdown.

I put the phone back to my ear. "I’ll be there," I whispered to Dubois. "But if you ever call this house again, I’ll find where the money for your retainer comes from and I’ll choke it off. Do you understand?"

"I look forward to our negotiation," Dubois said.

I hung up and stared at the sunrise. The light was blinding now, reflecting off the glass towers Arthur had built. I realized with a sick feeling that I wasn't undoing Arthur's legacy. I was managing it.

I walked back into the study, my eyes catching the blue light of the laptop. I opened it again, my cursor moving to the subfolder for Marcus.

There was a document I hadn't seen before. A trust disbursement schedule.

I scrolled to the bottom, looking for the last authorized signature. It wasn't Arthur’s. It was dated last week.

Sarah JENKINS. The night nurse from Sunnyvale.

I realized with a jolt that the woman who helped me save Margaret had been on a second payroll the entire time.

Sarah said she'd never met Dubois. But in the document, her digital fingerprint was all over the Marcus fund.