Ethan nodded, a look of profound relief crossing his face.

He turned back to the binder, his fingers tracing the signatures on the paper.

He was preparing his counter-strike, arranging the digital files to be sent to the board members.

He worked in silence, his fingers flying across his phone screen.

The rain outside continued to fall, a steady drumming against the glass.

The grandfather clock downstairs began to chime three.

The sound of car doors closing echoed from the driveway.

We both froze.

Ethan walked to the window, parting the heavy drapes slightly.

“The investigators are leaving,” he said.

“They are getting back in their car.”

“But they will be back at dawn.”

“I have five hours,” Ethan muttered, his eyes narrowing.

He sat down at the small desk, his face illuminated by the cold blue light of his laptop.

He began drafting the emails to the board members, attaching the scanned pages of Claire’s records.

I remained by the cribs, keeping watch over the sleeping babies.

The nursery was silent except for the soft breathing of the quadruplets and the click of Ethan’s keyboard.