“MY MOTHER-IN-LAW TOLD ME TO EAT IN THE BATHROOM AT A LUXURY BANQUET—BUT WHEN MY HUSBAND’S GRANDMOTHER OPENED A BLACK FOLDER, HIS ENTIRE FAMILY WENT PALE.”

Victor was broad-shouldered, silver at the temples, and always wore the expression of a man arriving to collect something he already owned. Two private guards stood behind him at the gate.

Evelyn pressed the intercom button. “My lawyer will meet you at your office.”

“You're making a mistake, Aunt Evelyn.”

“Then send it to me in writing.”

His smile disappeared on the camera feed. “You don't know what's in that folder.”

“I know whose names are on it.”

“Names can be explained.”

“So can bank transfers.”

Victor leaned toward the intercom. “Nia, I know you're listening. Your father asked too many questions. Don't repeat his mistake.”

I grabbed the microphone. “Did you threaten him before he died?”

Evelyn caught my wrist, but my words were already outside.

Victor said nothing. One guard shifted uncomfortably. Then Victor stepped back and got into his vehicle.

Darius saved the intercom recording. “That's a threat, even if he thinks he was careful.”

Marcus looked sick. “He's been telling everyone Harold died because of stress. I never asked how he knew.”

We met Evelyn's attorney, Grace Holloway, that afternoon in her office downtown. Grace was a compact woman with a calm voice and a habit of asking the same question three ways until no one could hide inside a vague answer.

She inspected the original folder, the blue box, and the drives. “There is enough here to preserve evidence and request an independent forensic review. But do not circulate these children's private records.”

“Can we stop Celia?” I asked.

“Perhaps. But first we need to protect the families, notify the proper authorities, and establish who had access to each system.”

Grace turned to Marcus. “Are you willing to give a sworn statement?”

He looked at me. “Yes.”

“Even if it exposes your own decisions?”

“Yes.”

Grace wrote something down. “Then we start with the deleted database.”