Chapter 121
Rowan's POV
The waiting room felt smaller than it should have. I sat in one of those uncomfortable chairs designed to make you leave faster, staring at the closed door Lena had disappeared through an hour ago.
An hour and twelve minutes, actually.
I checked my watch again. Forced myself to stop.
Emily had gone to get coffee twenty minutes ago and hadn't come back. Smart woman—she probably needed the distance from me as much as I needed to do something, anything, other than sit here imagining what Lena was saying to Dr. Taylor. What she was reliving.
My laptop sat on the chair beside me. I'd brought it reflexively, the way I always did. Work had been my escape for years—the thing I could control when everything else spiraled.
But I couldn't focus on quarterly reports right now.
I pulled out the U-drive instead. The one Alexander had given Lena, the one she'd been looking at when she—
My jaw clenched.
I plugged it into my laptop.
The files loaded slowly. Encrypted folders. Chat logs. Photo directories I deliberately didn't open. And then, buried three layers deep: email correspondence.
Marcus Grant's secret communications, meticulously organized by contact name.
I scrolled through them. Offshore accounts. Shell companies. Coded language that probably meant payoffs or blackmail. Standard rich-asshole corruption.
Then I saw one folder labeled simply: "B."
I clicked it.
The first email was dated fifteen years ago. The sender: a law firm in Zurich I recognized—expensive, discreet, the kind that specialized in making problems disappear.
Mr. Grant,
Regarding your inquiry about expediting the matter we discussed: I've identified a reliable contact in Silverton who can assist with the timing issue. The individual in question is elderly and in declining health. Natural causes would not raise suspicion.
My blood went cold.
I kept reading.
Please confirm the proposed timeline. Once the estate matter is resolved, we can proceed with the consolidation plan as outlined.
Attached: updated power of attorney documents, contact information for Dr. Raymond Williams (personal physician), preliminary death certificate template.
I sat back, feeling sick.
Vivian's father—the Old Bowen. The founder of what became Nexus Investment.
He'd died suddenly twenty years ago. Heart attack, if I remembered correctly. Vivian had inherited everything. Shortly after, she began delegating critical company decisions to Marcus.
Except it wasn't a heart attack.
It was murder.
I opened the attachment. Bank records showing a wire transfer from one of Marcus's shell companies to an account in the Cayman Islands. Two hundred thousand dollars, dated three days before the old man's death.
Another document: the actual death certificate, with a man's signature.
I took a photo with my phone and sent it to Jack in a single message: Priority. Verify if this man is still alive. If yes, find him. If no, find out how he died.
Then I forwarded everything to my legal team, instructing them to lock it down and prepare a criminal case file.
My phone buzzed almost immediately.
Jack: Jesus Christ. This is—
Me: I know.
Jack: Does Lena know?
Me: Not yet. Keep digging. I want everything.
I closed the laptop and pressed my palms against my eyes.
Marcus hadn't just abused Lena. He'd murdered her grandfather to get control of the family fortune. He'd systematically destroyed Vivian's support network inside Nexus. He'd built his entire life on exploitation and violence.
And Lena had spent her entire childhood in his house.
The door to Dr. Taylor's office opened. I straightened automatically, then caught myself—Emily was walking back down the hall with two paper cups.
She stopped when she saw me. Took in my expression.
"What did you find?"
I shook my head. "Not here."
She handed me a coffee and sat down, studying me with that therapist's gaze that missed nothing. "You're not just protecting her. You're hunting him."
I didn't deny it.
"Rowan." Her voice was careful. "Whatever you're planning—"
"He deserves worse than prison." The words came out flat. Final.
Emily was quiet for a long moment. Then she sighed. "I won't argue with that. But don't lose yourself in revenge. Lena needs you present, not consumed."
"I can do both."
"Can you?"
Before I could answer, the office door opened again.
This time, Lena emerged.
---
She looked exhausted. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale. She moved slowly, like someone who'd just run a marathon and was still processing the fact that she'd finished.
Dr. Taylor stood in the doorway behind her, professional and composed, but I caught the slight concern in her expression.
Emily was on her feet immediately. "Hey. How are you feeling?"
Lena managed a small, fragile smile. "I can... stabilize my emotions a bit now. Dr. Taylor helped me understand it wasn't my fault."
"Of course it wasn't, honey." Emily pulled her into a gentle hug.
Over Emily's shoulder, Lena's gaze found mine.
I stood up. Shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. Wanted to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything, if there was something—anything—I could do.
But the words stuck in my throat.
She pulled back from Emily, still looking at me. Her expression was unreadable—careful, guarded, but not quite as distant as before.
I took a step forward. Opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
"Are you okay?" I finally managed.
Stupid question. Of course she wasn't okay.
But Lena nodded slowly. "I will be."
The weight in those three words made my chest tight.
Emily touched Lena's arm. "Come on. Let's go outside for a bit. Get some air."
Lena let herself be guided toward the exit. I watched them go, feeling useless.
"Mr. Reynolds?"
I turned. Dr. Taylor was gesturing to her office.
"Can we talk?"