Everett once asked Silas how he'd even thought to pull footage that old. "Old habits," Silas said. "Nothing digital ever really disappears. It just waits for someone to look." Everett found that thought oddly comforting, given everything else he'd learned that week.
"She built this whole thing," Everett said quietly. "Brick by brick."
He said it almost with reluctant admiration, in a strange, bitter way. Not for her cruelty, but for how patient it had been. How thoroughly she'd studied every corner of his life before ever making a move.
"She built more than that," Silas said. "I haven't gotten to the hospital yet."
Everett braced himself.
Eleven months ago, Naomi was admitted for early labor complications. The hospital followed protocol. They called the emergency contact listed on file. Everett Marsh. Three times, over two days.
Every one of those calls had been silently redirected. Not to voicemail. Not lost in a system error. Redirected, by a forwarding rule, straight into a dead line. Someone had set that rule up personally. From inside company IT. The same week Naomi was admitted.
