It was, it turned out, a door I had built into the foundation years in advance, and left locked, and kept the only key to — and my in-laws had just, in a foyer, given me every reason I would ever need to open it.

Chapter 8 — A Different Name

Phoebe did not waste the morning.

By the time the sun was properly up, she had contacted investigators, filed an emergency corporate action, and preserved every financial record we had been quietly collecting for months — the disappearing documents, the reconciliation gaps, the trail into Arthur’s shell companies, and now the recording.

And she did one more thing, a small thing that mattered enormously.

She had me moved.