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I read the last portion of the transcript.

Sylvia had said, “We can assure you that all communications are being monitored and routed appropriately.”

Mr. Lyle had responded, “That sentence concerns me more than if you had said nothing. Tell Sutton to contact me as soon as possible.”

Those words were simple, direct, and unimpressed by the system I had placed around her absence. Although Sutton and I were working through our issues, I refused to purposely hurt Prescott Vantage in any way. So I forwarded Nancy’s email to Sylvia, telling her to call me as soon as possible.

Sylvia called me within three minutes and this was one of the reasons why I paid her what I did.

“Mr. Ashcroft,” she said when I answered.

“Sylvia.”

She paused for a second before she followed up with a comment. “You read the transcript.”

“I did.”

“Then you understand why Nancy escalated.”

“I understand that Wiles and Co. is talking about leaving Prescott Vantage because we bought them.”

“They are talking about leaving because the only person they trust has vanished from the account without a credible explanation,” Sylvia corrected. “Ashcroft Group’s involvement is a contributing factor, not the whole cause.”

I glanced at the tablet again and still found that Sutton’s bedroom door remained closed. The hallway feed showed nothing but polished floors and a camera angle I suddenly resented needing.

“How close are they to formal notice?” I asked.

“Close enough that I wouldn’t treat this as theater.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“No,” Sylvia said. “Because formal notice is not the only risk. If Wiles and Co. leave, they won’t announce it. They will simply stop sending their issues here, stop answering calls, and quietly inform other families and companies that Prescott Vantage is no longer stable. That is how legacy clients do damage. They don’t make noise. They remove oxygen.”

I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling for the length of one breath. Sylvia was good. She was also right, which made the conversation less pleasant.

“And none of the things we’ve offered them have worked?”

“Nope. They do not care.”

“Because they want Ms. Prescott.”

“Yes.”

The way she said it was too neutral to be accidental. Sylvia Caldwell had been in enough rooms with me to understand that the obvious sometimes needed to be placed on the table and left there until I decided if it was time to use it.

I did not enjoy being managed, even delicately.

“Say what you’re trying not to say,” I told her.

Another pause. This one was hesitation.

“The cleanest solution is to have Ms. Prescott speak to Harold Lyle.”

“No.”

“You asked me to say it.”

“And I answered.”