“He is,” Martin confirmed. “But with specific conditions. He wanted to ensure the estate reached you—and wasn’t absorbed into circumstances that wouldn’t serve your interests.”

I thought of the folder Dean had pushed across the breakfast table. The trust agreement. The ease with which he expected my signature.

“When did he change his will?” I asked.

Martin met my gaze. “Eight months ago. Shortly after he became aware of the trust agreement your brother had been preparing.”

The room seemed to go still.

“He knew,” I said.

“He did,” Martin replied. “He also knew about two earlier attempts to gain financial leverage over you. One involved a contact through a former associate of your brother who tried to access your company’s incorporation documents. The other was an unsuccessful attempt to list your brother as a secondary beneficiary on a life insurance policy in your name.”

The air felt thinner, harder to breathe.

“The officers…” I began.

Martin nodded. “Your brother is currently being questioned in South Carolina. Connecticut detectives are working with local authorities regarding the insurance matter. It’s an active investigation, so I can’t share everything yet. But the officers here are not symbolic—they’re a precaution. Your grandfather anticipated the risks of you coming here alone and made arrangements to ensure your safety.”

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a moment—plain panels, harsh lighting, nothing to focus on. Sometimes you need emptiness just to keep from being overwhelmed.

A grandfather I had never met had been quietly watching over me for years. He had died less than two weeks ago. And somehow, in the short time since, everything I didn’t know had started moving—pulling me out of that staged vacation and into this room, where someone else seemed to know more about my life than I did.

“Who sent the texts?” I asked.