LUCAS’S POV
The library smelled of old paper and leather. It was the only room in the penthouse that my grandfather had insisted on designing himself. At 8:00 AM sharp, the behavioral forensic team had divided the perimeter.
I sat across from Mr Vance in the executive office downtown, while Ava remained at the penthouse with Dr. Thorne. The distance felt tactical, an intentional separation designed to make us second-guess the stability of the other’s narrative.
Vance was a younger man, but he had the dry, legalistic precision of an actuary. He didn't look at me, he looked at his tablet, his fingers tapping the screen in a rhythmic, irritating cadence.
"Let’s discuss the timeline, Mr. Carter," Vance said, his voice flat. "According to the corporate registry, Mrs. Carter was appointed as
