The screen flickered, showing a grainy, low-light view of the hospital room.

The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound.

A shadow moved across the camera lens.

The door to the room opened, and a figure stepped inside.

The figure was Margaret.

Even in the grainy, low-light footage, her sharp profile and the rigid line of her shoulders were unmistakable.

She walked to the bedside cabinet, her movements quick and deliberate.

She did not look at my mother’s sleeping face.

She opened the drawer, pulled out a thick leather folio, and slipped it into her coat.

Then she turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stared at the dark screen of my phone, my fingers cold.

The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, the heavy chimes vibrating through the floorboards.

“I have her,” I whispered into the quiet room.

The next morning, the rain had cleared, leaving the Concord estate wrapped in a thick, damp fog.

Daniel was waiting for me at the corporate offices in Boston.

Rachel sat at the head of the conference table, her legal pads lined up in neat, precise rows.