eyes moved to Alba. To the computer. To Vivian’s face.
A lesser man might have shown anger immediately. Graham only softened.
“Vivian, everyone’s worried. You left without telling anyone.”
“Did I?”
“Of course.” He stepped into the room without permission. “You’ve had a terrible shock. Nurse Ruiz, I appreciate your concern, but Mrs. Lennox is vulnerable tonight.”
Alba’s chin lifted. “She came here on her own.”
“Grief can make people suggestible,” Graham said gently.
There it was. The word chosen carefully enough to sound clinical, cruel enough to do its work.
Suggestible.
Vivian let her shoulders dip. She looked down at her gloves.
“Maybe I am tired,” she said.
Graham’s expression warmed. “Exactly. Come with me. I’ll drive you home. Tomorrow we can start sorting out Mara’s things. You should not have to face that alone.”
“Her studio?”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“Eventually. Yes. She kept old medications there. Disturbing journals. You know how she got.”
Vivian took the brass key from her pocket and placed it on the desk.
Graham looked at it.
So did the guard.
“This key?” Vivian asked.
Graham’s mouth tightened. “For safekeeping.”
“You asked for it at the cemetery too.”
“I offered to help.”
“While the grave was still open.”
The security guard looked at Graham.
A shadow crossed Graham’s face, quick and ugly. Then it vanished.
“You’re emotional,” he said.
“Yes,” Vivian said. “My daughter is dead.”
“Because she made a choice.”
The room seemed to contract around those words.
Alba’s eyes filled with fury. Vivian did not move.
“Say that again,” Vivian said.
Graham sighed, as if she had disappointed him. “Mara was ill. I protected her reputation today because I loved her. Don’t force me to tell people how unstable she became.”
“Who are these people?”
“The police. The court. Anyone who needs to understand why her mother is now making wild accusations after being approached by a nurse who stole hospital property.”
Alba flinched.
Vivian kept her gaze on Graham.
He was showing her the shape of his plan. Discredit Mara. Discredit Alba. Discredit the grieving mother. Turn documents into weapons. Turn concern into a cage.
She had seen it before.
Only this time, the woman inside the cage was her child.
“Did you follow me from the cemetery?” Vivian asked.
“I was worried.”
“With your headlights off?”
The guard straightened.
Graham’s eyes cooled.
“Be careful,” he said.
Not loudly.
He did not need to be loud. Men like Graham trusted quiet threats more than shouting.
“Mara was careful too,” Vivian said.
His nostrils flared.
“Mara was reckless. Mara was dramatic. Mara collected grievances like souvenirs. She accused me of everything whenever I told her no.”
“No to what?”
“To humiliating herself.” His voice sharpened. “To running away with half my money. To telling strangers I drugged her because she couldn’t admit she was addicted to attention.”
The guard looked from Graham to Vivian.
Vivian felt the recorder warm beneath her scarf.
“You said she accused you of drugging her,” she said.
Graham froze.
Only for an instant.
Then he smiled.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Nurse Ruiz has been filling your head.”
Alba reached toward the computer. Her hand trembled, but her voice did not.
“No,” she said. “Mara did.”
She clicked play.
Mara’s voice filled the
