Caleb closes the folder and looks at me like he knows I’m about to do something irreversible.
“We pulled more,” he says. “Comms. Calendar invites. Back channels.”
He opens the laptop and turns the screen toward me.
An email thread. A private invite. A conference room booking.
Caspian. The company we’re acquiring. The final piece of a strategic expansion that would change Northwell’s entire footprint.
My father is meeting them. Without me.
My pulse steadies into something cold and precise.
“Rowan?” I say, already reaching for my phone.
Caleb nods. “I've got him.”
Rowan’s voice is tight. “I have updates.”
“Tell me.”
“Security logs confirm Richard accessed the penthouse using a concierge override,” Rowan says. “The concierge claims they received authorization from your office.”
My blood goes colder. “From my office?”
“Yes. Spoofed. Someone forged it. We’re pulling call recordings and camera footage now.”
“How did he get into my Northwell safe?”
A beat, and then Rowan’s exhale is sharp. “We’re still working it, but I’ll tell you this: someone on the inside assisted. The safe wasn’t forced.”
My hand clenches around the phone.
Rowan continues, “Theo went to the treatment facility.”
My heart punches against my ribs. “And?”
“They wouldn’t let him in,” Rowan says. “Lucy removed everyone from the visitor list.”
Lucy.
My wife.
Removing us like we’re toxins.
Rowan adds, “No one has eyes on her. Theo’s staying there anyway. He’s not leaving the building.”
I stare at the wall like it might give me an answer.
Rowan keeps going, “She went to her home office before she disappeared. She took documents and folders. She took her passport. She packed a bag.”
Fuck....
A passport means intent.
A passport means distance.
A passport means she’s not running to cool down.
