“I froze the accounts an hour ago,” Mara said. “But Judith is aggressive. She’s already filed a motion with the bank claiming you authorized the transfer before labor to hide assets from Grant.

If she convinces a judge to unfreeze it before the trust finalizes, the money is gone.”

A soft knock interrupted us. The door opened slowly to reveal an elderly man leaning on a polished cane, in a tailored navy coat, his silver hair neatly combed.

I didn’t recognize him, but Mara stood, her posture rigid.

“Who are you?” Keene asked, his hand drifting toward his belt.

The old man ignored the general and looked at me. His eyes were sad, carrying decades of unspoken history. “She has Everett’s chin,” he murmured.