Chapter 6: Crosby Vane Makes His Move
The message had come from Nora.
I hadn't given her my number.
She'd found it the same way she'd found my gates — through Genevieve, through channels I was only beginning to understand my wife had quietly built in her final months.
I called her back immediately.
"How do you know he called?" I said.
"Because I'm still connected to people Crosby doesn't know exist," she said.
"He has a woman who handles his private communications.
She was kind to Genevieve once.
She remembered."
"What did Aldric tell him?"
"That someone came to the estate yesterday.
A woman.
That you met with her privately and you were asking questions about the filtration system this morning."
"And Crosby's response?"
A pause.
"He told Aldric to finish it.
Not the twins.
He was careful about that.
He said — finish the negotiation.
Move to the next phase.
Aldric will know what that means."
I looked at Prescott across the room.
"The next phase," I said.
Prescott's jaw tightened.
"He's going to approach you directly.
Make an offer.
Something you'd only accept if you were desperate enough."
That was the design.
Sick children.
Exhausted father.
A man who had run out of options and would sign anything to save what he loved.
Crosby Vane had been building toward this moment for over a year.
He called at noon.
"Lawson." His voice was warm.
It had always been warm.
That was the thing about Crosby — he sounded like someone's favorite uncle.
"I've been thinking about you.
About those children of yours.
Terrible thing."
"What do you want, Crosby?"
A small pause.
Adjusting to the directness.
"I want to help.
I have a specialist.
Not the kind you find through normal channels.
She's worked with cases the medical establishment had already written off.
I'd like to arrange an introduction."
"In exchange for what?"
"The Lakeshore portfolio.
I've wanted those properties for three years.
You've always said no.
I understand why — they were Genevieve's project.
But Lawson." His voice dropped.
"She's gone.
And your children are still here.
For now."
*For now.*
Two words.
Soft as a suggestion.
Sharp as a blade.
"I'll think about it," I said.
"Don't think too long." Still warm.
Still smiling, I could hear it.
"Time is the one thing you don't have much of."
He ended the call.
Prescott had heard every word on speaker.
He stood very still.
"He just threatened your children," Prescott said.
"Yes."
"Openly."
"Openly enough." I set the phone on the desk.
"Get me everything we have on Hartwell Environmental.
The engineer Aldric used.
The installation records.
Every signature on every document connected to that filtration system."
"And Crosby?"
"I'm going to call him back tomorrow morning and tell him I'll sign." I looked at Prescott.
"And between now and then, I need enough evidence to make sure that when I do, it's the last deal he ever tries to make."
Prescott picked up his phone.
"Dr.
Yates just messaged," he said.
"The lab results are back early."
He turned the screen to face me.
I read the results once.
Then again.
The compound in the twins' air supply was real, specific, and traceable.
It was not a naturally occurring contaminant.
It was a manufactured suppressant — the kind that degraded bone marrow function slowly, invisibly, over many months.
May you like
It had a patent number.
The patent was registered to a subsidiary of Crosby Vane's holding company.
