Chapter 7 Terms You Don't Get To Set

• Odette’s POV
• Langley spread files across the library table like a crime scene: copies of signatures, proxy memos, transfer slips, timestamps. I stood at the head. Callum took the far end, jacket off, sleeves rolled, tie loosened one notch. He didn’t posture. He just looked like a problem most people wouldn’t try to solve.
• “Week of my grandfather’s death,” I said. “Who touched paper?”
• Langley tapped piles with a capped pen. “Margaux—charitable transfer authorization. Victor—executive proxy memo. Sebastian—limited power of attorney and a retainer to a private data firm. Brielle—no signature, plenty of presence. Ellis—‘incident coordination’ statement that puts him in every hallway without taking the fall.”
• I skimmed Ellis’s statement. I could have recited it. “We start with Sebastian,” I said. “He’s the hinge.”
• “Then we break the hinge,” Callum said. He slid a gray folder toward me. “Funds moved from a family account to Zurich the day after your arrest, then again six months later. Same routing fingerprint. That data firm shows up in the ledger as a ‘consultant.’ Money in, silence out.”
• “Backup drive,” I said. “Mira told us he took it.”
• Langley nodded. “She’ll meet, but off-site and on her terms. Nine o’clock. Tea shop by the river.”
• “She gets both,” I said. “And we file to block any surprise trust moves tonight.”
• “I’m drafting a temporary restraining order,” Langley said. “Narrow scope. Voting rights, trusts, assignments—frozen pending hearing.”
• “Do it,” I said. “If Ellis wants to play paperwork, we’ll change the rules.”
• Callum tore a sheet from a legal pad and drew a simple map: Sebastian at center, lines to Brielle, Victor, Margaux, Ellis. On each line he wrote a verb—Moved, Coached, Signed, Benefited. He didn’t waste words. He slid the page to me. Our fingers touched for half a second. Heat, clean and inconvenient.
• “You said only that night,” he said quietly.
• “I did,” I replied.
• He didn’t look away. “Understood.”
• We spent two hours setting traps. Langley wrote. I placed calls to two junior accountants who used to tremble at my mother’s voice and now preferred mine. Callum lined up a judge who respects deadlines and a courier who doesn’t lose envelopes.
• At eight-fifty, we left. The tea shop rang a small bell when we entered. It had two tables, a counter, and a radio humming standards. Mira sat in the back with a chipped mug and a face that didn’t want to be recognized.
• “I should have said something five years ago,” she said. “I didn’t. But I want to now.”
• “Good,” I said. “Tell me about the study.”
• “Your grandfather had me install a second camera. Hidden. Motion-triggered stills to a shelf unit. He didn’t like relying on one system.” She slid an envelope across the table. “This printed before the power was cut.”
• The print was grainy but clear enough: the study, the date stamp, Brielle in profile at the desk, Sebastian behind her with his hand on the drawer. The wall clock showed a time thirty-one minutes off the official timeline.
• “I kept it because I thought I was crazy,” Mira said.
• “You’re not,” I said. “You’re hired.” I looked at Langley. He nodded. Retainer and counsel were already handled.
• Callum studied the photo once, returned it to the envelope, and tucked it into my bag. “We’ll list you as a protected source when we file,” he told her. “No direct contact from anyone. If your phone rings from an unknown number, let it ring.”
• She swallowed. “Thank you.”
• Back at the estate, we went straight to the study. I aimed a lamp at the bookcase. “Where would he hide a shelf unit?”
• Callum crouched and felt along the lower molding. A panel clicked open. Inside: a narrow cradle for a drive, empty. Two scratches on the lip. A ragged tail of a cable tie. He didn’t say I told you so. He didn’t need to.
• “He took it fast,” I said.
• “And sloppy,” Callum said. “He thought no one would look. Or he wanted you to see the gap and understand who did it.” He stood. “We’ll find the drive or what replaced it.”
• My phone buzzed. Unknown number I knew too well. Private room at the club tomorrow morning. Ten minutes. Sign a temporary trust for optics. Then you can yell at me. —E
• I forwarded it to Langley. He responded in under a minute. TRO signed. Effective now. Any trust or assignment without court approval is a violation.
• “Good,” I said. “We let him show up with a pen and a bad idea.”
• “Do you want me there?” Callum asked.
• “I want him complacent,” I said. “He behaves worse when he thinks he’s winning.”
• Callum’s mouth edged toward a smile and stopped before it got there. “So do most men.”
• We left the study. In the hallway, I adjusted my jacket. He reached to fix a lapel that wasn’t crooked. Anyone else would call it nothing. My pulse didn’t.
• “You keep stopping an inch away,” I said.
• “It’s a good inch.”
• “It’s a stubborn one.”
• “I can be patient,” he said.
• “Noted.” I stepped past him. “For now.”
• We worked until midnight. Langley left with a stack of filings. I pared my board remarks down to blades.
• My phone buzzed again. Ellis: Please. Ten minutes. I can fix it.
• I typed: Ten minutes. Bring a pen.
• I put the phone face down. Callum watched my hands, then my face.
• “You going to sleep?” he asked.
• “After I practice not strangling him with a contract.”
• “Reasonable,” he said. He picked up his jacket. “Text me if he tries anything smart.”
• “He won’t,” I said. “He’ll try something dumb and call it strategy.”
• Callum paused at the threshold. “Odette.”
• I looked up.
• “You don’t have to do polite,” he said. “Not with me. Not with them.”
• “I’m done with polite,” I said. “Tomorrow we start pulling.”
• “Then I’ll be there when it gives.”
• He left. The house went quiet in the normal way— just silence. I stood alone long enough to decide I liked the quiet more than I liked Ellis’s voice. In the morning, I’d let him talk for exactly ten minutes. Then I’d make sure he never set terms for me again.