She had said nothing, because she had nothing to say it to and no proof to say it with.

But she had kept her eyes open.

And when my brother came to her at last, a man she’d assumed couldn’t walk asking her to help him prove a murder, she had not fainted, or doubted, or demanded explanations.

She had simply asked what she could do.

Empires are built by men like Harlan Merrick.

They are brought down, more often than anyone writes, by women like Martha, who see everything and are counted as furniture.

Days before Callum drove us into the bay, Martha had placed a small recorder in his private study, in the room where he took the calls no one was meant to hear.