“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “He went into his study to get his coat. He was going to deliver it himself.”

Ethan rubbed his face with both hands.

“Then we heard a crash,” he said. “We ran in, and he was on the floor. He was twitching, Grace. There was foam at his mouth.”

A chill ran down my spine.

“Where is his study?” I asked. “Is anyone there now?”

“The police went there first,” Ethan said. “But Cassandra’s family had their private security team lock the place down before the local cops could get a warrant.”

Of course they did.

“They’re cleaning it out,” I said.

“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “Cassandra swears they are just protecting his privacy.”

“You still believe her?” I asked, looking him dead in the eye.

Ethan looked away, staring at the linoleum floor.

“She’s my fiancée, Grace,” he said quietly. “I have to believe her.”

“She is protecting a lie that could ruin lives, Ethan,” I said. “It might have already killed her father.”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, his voice cracking. “The doctors said it could be a natural reaction to stress.”