Chapter 3: The Name on the Line That Should Have Been Mine
I stared at the document for a long time.
The letterhead was unmistakable.
Hargrove Maritime — the shipyard my grandfather had built from a single dry dock in Baltimore, the company my father had spent his life expanding, the company I had managed through grief and exhaustion after my parents were g0ne.
The signature at the bottom was neat.
Confident.
Completely unfamiliar.
"Who is Conrad Vess?" I asked.
Tobias's jaw tightened.
"Garrett's attorney.
The one his family has used for thirty years."
I looked up.
"Why does Conrad Vess have signing authority over our shipyard's asset transfer agreement?"
"Because Garrett filed a competency petition against you four months ago." Tobias watched my face.
"He told the court you were showing signs of cognitive decline.
Memory problems.
Fatigue.
Inability to manage complex business decisions."
The room — if you could call a gap between concrete pillars a room — seemed to tilt.
"He poisoned me," I said slowly.
"And then used the symptoms to have me declared incompetent."
"The petition hasn't been finalized.
There's a hearing scheduled for next week." Tobias folded the document carefully.
"He needed you g0ne before then.
If you d*ed in that river, the petition would be withdrawn quietly.
No one would question a grieving widower taking temporary stewardship of his late wife's estate."
I sat down on a narrow ledge of concrete.
Water dripped somewhere above us.
"How long have you known all of this?"
"Eight months.
Since I found the vial." He crouched in front of me.
"I've been building a file.
I have the toxicology report.
I have copies of the court filing.
I have photographs of Garrett meeting with Conrad Vess at a private office in Annapolis — an office registered to his father's holding company."
"His father." The name settled in my chest like a stone.
"Garrett's father was involved in Mom and Dad's accident."
"I believe so.
I can't prove it yet.
But the same holding company that employed Conrad Vess was in a contract dispute with our shipyard the year before Mom and Dad d*ed." He paused.
"They lost that dispute.
Dad refused to sell them a controlling stake.
Six months later, the accident happened."
I pressed my palms flat against my thighs to stop them from shaking.
"Garrett came into my life two years after that," I said.
"Yes."
"He was sent."
Tobias didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
I thought about the first time I met Garrett — at a maritime industry dinner in DC, introduced by a mutual colleague I had always trusted.
I thought about how quickly he had made me feel seen.
How patient he was.
How he never pushed.
How he made warm milk and set it on my nightstand and kissed my forehead and said, *you work too hard, Rosalind, let me take care of you.*
My stomach turned.
"The colleague who introduced us," I said.
"Marcus Hale."
Tobias was very still.
"Is Marcus part of this?"
"I don't know yet," Tobias said.
"His name appears in one email I recovered.
It may be nothing.
It may not be."
I stood up.
The water around the pier was dark and quiet.
Somewhere above us, on the road, Garrett was probably already making phone calls.
Telling people there had been a terrible accident.
Letting his voice break at the right moment.
"He thinks we're d*ad," I said.
"Yes."
"Then that's the only advantage we have." I looked at my brother — really looked at him, standing there on legs that had supposedly been useless for fifteen years.
"We need to talk about you.
All of it.
But not here."
"I know a place," Tobias said.
"There's a woman who's been helping me.
She's been waiting for my signal."
"Who?"
He almost smiled.
May you like
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Someone Garrett never thought to watch."
