THE COFFIN MOVED

Victor did not look surprised to find him there.

That frightened Noah more than anger would have.

Rainwater shone on Victor's cream-colored overcoat. He had come alone, without the security guards who normally followed him across the estate. For several seconds he looked from Noah to the open biscuit tin between them.

"Your mother always did love games," he said.

Noah closed his fist around the memory card.

"How did you know I was here?"

"You left the side alarm open."

It was a lie. Noah had disabled the alarm using the code Claire taught him, and the panel had shown no warning. Victor had either followed him or had been watching the greenhouse before Noah arrived.

"What is in the box?" Victor asked.

"Nothing."

"Then give it to me."

Noah stepped backward.

Victor entered the greenhouse, moving slowly through broken pots and dead vines. "I know this week has been unbearable. I know you think everyone is hiding something. But grief turns ordinary details into conspiracies. Your mother was under enormous pressure. She was making irrational choices."

"Like taking Blackridge Road?"

Victor's jaw tightened.

"Like leaving things buried for a child to find."

Noah glanced toward the door. Victor noticed.

"I am not going to hurt you."

"You have a strange way of saying that."

Victor stopped two steps away. "Give me the box, Noah."

Noah threw it.

Victor caught the tin by instinct.

Noah ran.

He vaulted over a bench, crashed through the rear frame where a glass panel had shattered years ago, and sprinted across the garden. Victor shouted after him but did not call security. That confirmed what Noah already suspected: Victor did not want anyone to know about the box.

Noah reached the servants' corridor and locked himself inside the laundry room. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the memory card. He inserted it into an old laptop kept on a shelf for inventory records.

One file appeared.

C_W_ARCHIVE_17.

The video opened with Claire sitting in her study. The date in the corner was six days before her death.

She looked exhausted.

"Noah," she said, staring directly into the camera, "I hope you never see this. If you do, it means I failed to keep you outside a fight you were never supposed to inherit."

She described irregularities inside Whitmore Biotech: missing clinical-trial data, falsified safety reports, payments routed through shell companies, and a private project called Larkspur. Claire had discovered that someone on the board was hiding adverse reactions in an experimental neurological drug. Patients had died. Records had been altered.

"I believed Victor was helping me investigate," Claire continued. "Now I am no longer certain."

Noah leaned closer.

Claire picked up a silver pendant shaped like a bird.

"This opens the second archive. Evelyn has the matching piece. Trust her only if she gives it to you willingly. If she denies having it, leave immediately."

A noise sounded beyond the laundry room.

The handle moved.

Noah shut the laptop.

"Noah?" Evelyn's voice came through the door. "Are you in there?"

He looked at the key in his palm. It was too small for a house door and too ornate for a desk drawer. A tiny bird was engraved on the bow.

"I need to speak to you," Evelyn said.

Noah opened the door three inches.

She stood alone in the corridor, still wearing black, her face pale beneath perfect makeup.

"Victor told me you ran from him."

"Did he tell you why?"

"He said you found something your mother left behind."

Noah studied her throat.