“Is the baby quiet?” Sloane’s voice asked on the tape.

“June is fine,” Carter replied.

“She’s in the bassinet.”

In the gallery, Sloane lowered her hands from her face, her eyes wide as she stared at the speaker above her.

Her skin looked gray under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom.

“We need to move the signature pages tonight,” Sloane’s recorded voice said.

“Lydia Burke is looking too closely at the quarterly distributions.”

“I’ve already initiated the transfer from the Vale trust,” Carter’s voice said on the tape.

“Vivian has the notary stamp in the library.”

“If Evelyn wakes up, she won’t remember anyway.”

“The doctor’s reports are already logged.”

The recording fell silent for a moment, filled only with the sound of quiet breathing and the distant chime of the grandfather clock in the hallway of Hartwell House.

“Is it done?” Sloane asked.

“Yes,” Carter said. “It’s done.”

The clerk stopped the playback, and the static cut out, leaving a sharp silence in the room.

Carter did not look at me.

He stared down at the yellow legal pad in front of him, his pen balanced between his thumb and forefinger.