“He hasn’t been interviewed yet.”
“Interviewed by who?”
“My legal team. And possibly the police, depending on your decision.”
I looked at the garden beyond the window. Snow had begun to fall in light, uncertain flakes.
“I’m scared,” I said.
The words came out before pride could stop them.
Ethan did not offer false comfort.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked away first. “Not the same way.”
That answer made me trust him more than if he had claimed to understand everything.
A soft knock interrupted us.
Daniel entered, folder in hand. “We have a problem.”
Ethan’s posture shifted immediately.
Daniel looked at me, then back at him. “Ryan’s access came through a temporary executive guest code issued yesterday afternoon.”
“To whom?” Ethan asked.
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
“To your brother.”
For the first time since I had met him, Ethan Caldwell looked genuinely shaken.
“Julian?” he said.
The name dropped into the room like something fragile breaking.
I knew of Julian Caldwell only from newspaper photographs and staff gossip. Ethan’s younger brother. Charming. Reckless. The one who smiled at charity galas, dated actresses, and appeared suddenly whenever Caldwell money became a headline. He did not live at the estate, but he came and went often enough that the staff kept his preferred bourbon stocked.
“Is he here?” Ethan asked.
“In the east guest suite,” Daniel said. “He arrived after midnight.”
Ethan’s face closed.
I felt suddenly intrusive, as though I had stumbled into a family room with the walls missing.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Daniel answered carefully. “It means Ryan may have used Mr. Julian Caldwell’s code without permission.”
Ethan heard the kindness in that wording and disliked it.
“Or with it.”
No one spoke.
Outside, snow thickened against the glass.
