And in that brief moment, my fingers slipped something small and unnoticeable into his pocket.
A tracker.
No one saw.
No one suspected.
But that single, silent act…
would change everything.
By the time I reached a nearby café, my hands were still shaking.
I sat down, ordered nothing, and pulled out my phone.
It vibrated almost immediately.
The signal was active.
A small blinking dot appeared on the screen.
Ethan.
I stared at it, my pulse steadying as something else replaced the grief—focus.
The dot began to move.
From the cemetery…
to downtown.
So he wasn’t mourning.
He was continuing.
That was when I remembered.
Alexander’s office.
The safe.
And a conversation we had just weeks before his death.
We had been sitting quietly in the living room. He had seemed distracted, distant.
“Elena,” he had said—his voice unusually serious—“if something ever feels wrong… trust what I leave outside the house.”
At the time, I thought he was being overly cautious.
Now, I understood.
I followed the signal.
It led me to a notary’s office.
Through the glass doors, I saw them.
Ethan.
William Harper.
And Claire Bennett.