There were only four people who knew about the lake house.
Nathaniel, Claire, James, and Marcus.
The drive back to the city happened at dawn, both of them quiet in the back of the car, the warmth of the previous evening packed away beneath something cold and practical. Claire watched Nathaniel’s profile in the grey morning light, the tight set of his jaw, the way he stared at his phone like it had personally let him down.
She thought about the list of four names and felt sick.
“It was not James,” Nathaniel said, as though he had read her mind.
“How do you know?”
“Because James has had every opportunity to sell information about this company and never once taken it,” he said. “Fourteen years. I trust him the way I trust my own hands.”
“Then it was Marcus,” Claire said quietly.
Natha
