Ethan turned to the next document in the staple.

It was a copy of a wire transfer receipt from a private account.

The account belonged to a holding company called Pierce Enterprises.

“Daniel,” Ethan whispered, his gaze fixing on the dollar amount. “Half a million dollars. Sent to the chief of obstetrics’ private foundation the very next morning.”

The truth hung in the cold air of the car, heavy and suffocating.

“The investment merger,” I realized, the pieces clicking together. “The deal with the Swiss syndicate.”

“They required a key-man clause,” Ethan said, his voice shaking with a mixture of grief and fury. “And they wanted assurance of my family’s stability.”

“If they knew Claire was dying during the final negotiations, they would have pulled out,” I said.

“Daniel closed the deal at three forty-five,” Ethan said, staring out at the rain. “He told me the papers were signed, and then he called me to say Claire was in recovery.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear cutting through the dust on his cheek.

“She was already gone,” he said. “My wife was dead, and he was popping champagne in the boardroom.”