SHATTERED GLASS AND SILENT BLOOD

The funeral for the victims of the Ashford tragedy was a private, heavily guarded affair. Julian buried his father’s legacy beneath a plain granite headstone in a forgotten corner of the cemetery, far from the grand family mausoleum.

He had moved Lily and Sofia into a secure safehouse in the coastal town of Rockport, Maine—a fortified cabin overlooking the rocky Atlantic coast, protected by private security operatives he had hired with what remained of his uncorrupted personal savings.

One evening, as the fog rolled in over the gray ocean, Sofia brought Lily up to bed, leaving Julian alone in the study. Spread across his desk were copies of the surviving files Reynolds had provided.

He was reading through the passenger manifest of The Siren when his secure satellite phone rang. The number was blocked, routed through dozens of international proxy servers.

Julian answered, his finger hovering over the trace recording software. ""Speak.""

""You look tired, Julian,"" Victoria’s voice came through the receiver, clear as crystal, utterly unaffected by the thousands of miles between them.

Julian’s grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked. ""Where are you, Victoria?""

""Somewhere the rain doesn't remind me of that dreadful house,"" she said, a light breeze audible in the background. ""I called to give you a warning. My father's associates have already tracked down two of your shell corporations. They think you have the ledger.""

""I don't have it. You took it,"" Julian snarled. ""Tell them that and leave us out of your sick war.""

""They don't care who has the original, darling,"" she whispered, her voice dropping into an intimate, mocking tone. ""They only care that witnesses exist. And Lily... Lily saw the names on the first page. She remembers, doesn't she?""

Julian's breath hitched. Lily had mentioned 'the book with the bad men's names' to the child psychologist just yesterday.