Elara’s POV
"You didn't open it."
Liam still had his jacket on, like he hadn't decided whether he was staying. "Wasn't mine to open."
I set my bag down and picked up the envelope. The tape had been pressed flat by someone who wanted it to look untouched — Morticia's people, or Morticia herself. I slit it with the letter opener from Sullivan's desk, the one he'd given me the day I signed the SM Group papers, and let the contents slide out across the wood.
Photographs first. A woman I didn't recognize in a clinic waiting room, date-stamped, Camila's profile just visible at the edge of the frame — turned half away from the camera. Then a folder of lab results from a fertility clinic on the Upper East Side, the kind that kept its patients' business quiet for a price steep enough to guarant
