And I lay back against the thin hospital pillow and understood that I was not alone in this, had in fact never been alone in it, that behind me stood a dead grandfather and a living attorney and a ten-year architecture of protection built by people who had loved me enough to plan for the worst day of my life before it ever came.

Flynn had counted on me being isolated.

He had married, it turned out, into the least isolated position a woman could possibly hold.

“Maren,” I said, quiet and steady.

“Activate the Ashcombe Trust default protocol.

All of it.”

I heard her breath catch.

“All of it.