“From Evan's office?”
She hesitated.
“That's one of the locations under examination. We've also established a financial relationship that wasn't previously disclosed.”
My heart tightened.
“Between whom?”
“An entity connected to Evan's family and a consulting arrangement funded through Meridian-associated interests.”
I stared toward the wall.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I asked, “Was the money payment for legitimate work?”
“That's being examined. The records raise serious questions about the purpose and disclosure of the relationship.”
I closed my eyes.
Evan.
The man who had sent flowers.
The man who knew my daughter's name.
The man who had helped me navigate the agency during difficult years.
I wanted the evidence to be wrong.
That frightened me.
Because wanting something to be wrong could be as dangerous as wanting it to be true.
I took a slow breath.
“Keep the investigation independent.”
Mara answered immediately.
“We are.”
I swallowed.
“And don't give me anything I'm not authorized to know as a witness.”
There was a pause.
Then she said quietly.
“Understood.”
When I ended the call, I remained seated.
For a long time, I stared at the photograph on my desk.
Zora at ten.
Smiling beside a science museum exhibit.
Evan stood in the background.
He had accompanied a group of students during an outreach event and spent nearly an hour explaining the difference between a laboratory demonstration and real-world engineering.
Zora liked him.
Called him Uncle Evan.
I looked toward the picture.
Then turned it facedown.
Not because the photograph had become false.
The kindness of that afternoon had happened.
But I could no longer look at it without wondering how a person could behave generously in one part of his life while making decisions that placed others in danger.
My mother appeared in the doorway.
“Vivienne?”
I looked up.
She studied my face.
Then stepped inside.
“Bad news?”
I nodded.
She sat opposite me.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Finally, I said, “I think somebody I trusted may have helped arrange what happened.”
My mother remained still.
Then asked, “Do you know for certain?”
“Not yet.”
She nodded.
“Then don't punish yourself for not having known.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That's easier said than done.”
“I know.”
She looked toward my wrists.
The marks were fading.
But the pain remained when I moved my hands in certain ways.