Marcus didn’t answer at once. “If it’s her, someone hid her. And whoever did it had two years to wipe the trail clean.”

Back at the Greenwich mansion, Beatrice locked her bedroom door and pulled an encrypted burner phone from a hidden compartment in her safe. She dialed Dr. Arthur Keller, the former administrative director at St. Jude Memorial, where Valerie had been rushed the night of the crash.

“Alexander is at the graduation,” she said, without a greeting.

Silence on the line. “Beatrice, it’s been two years,” Keller said nervously. “You can’t call me on this number.”

“Don’t talk to me about time,” she spat. “Time is what I bought for all of us.”

“The files are sealed.”