Nor did he know that my eight-month investigation had already concluded.
I hadn't spent those eight months crying into my pillows. I had hired forensic auditors, copied offshore server keys, secured separate banking conduits in Delaware, and retrieved my mother’s ancestral diaries from our basement safe. Every day Marcus had spent dining with Vivian, I had removed another brick from the fortress he believed kept me captive.
The paramedics arrived four minutes later.
They lifted me onto the gurney, their hands warm and professional, the oxygen mask hissing against my mouth. At the hospital, the emergency ultrasound confirmed what my soul already knew: the screen was dark, the galloping acoustic flutter silenced forever.
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I did not break down in the recovery bay.
I signed the discharge forms against medical advice at 10:45 P.M. I took a private medical transport back to the empty mansion, washed the blood from my skin under scalding water, and dressed in an unadorned black wool traveling coat.
