Evan’s face drained of all color, shifting from a healthy, tanned flush to the sickly pallor of wet ash.

Beside him, Celeste’s fingers went slack, slipping limply from the sleeve of his expensive suit.

“That’s… that’s completely impossible,” Evan stammered, his polished veneer cracking.

His voice broke on the final syllable, pitching upward in panic.

“Emma didn’t own shares. I controlled the finances. I gave her an allowance. A generous one!”

Mr. Halden slowly lowered the document, peering over the gold rims of his glasses with the detached pity of a scientist observing an insect.

“Your late wife, Mr. Vale, owned exactly twelve percent of ValeTech Holdings,” Halden stated, the acoustics of the church amplifying his dry tone.