“The entire balance of the capital trust shall immediately transfer to the general operating account of Apex Development,” I whispered.

I looked up at Liam, the sterile light of the screen reflecting in his eyes.

“It’s a liquidation trigger,” I said. “If I die, or if I am put into a vegetative state, the money goes to Ethan’s company. Immediately. Without probate.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck turning rigid.

“The night he attacked you,” Liam said. “He didn’t just lose his temper.”

“He was trying to trigger the clause,” I said.

“A fall down the stairs,” Liam said, his voice flat with clinical anger. “A severe subdural hematoma. If I hadn’t operated when I did, you would be brain-dead.”

“He would have had the money by Monday morning,” I said.

The room felt suddenly ice-cold.

I looked down at my own hands, pale and bandaged, remembering the grip of Ethan’s fingers around my throat.

It had never been about my silence.

It was about thirty million dollars that his real estate empire desperately needed to survive.