Nico had spent eight months being treated like a broken man—until one exhausted nurse finally stepped between him and the woman everyone else feared.

Camille came to Nico's study at noon.

She didn't knock.

She opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped when she saw the room — Estelle at the table, Marcus with his briefcase, Adeline standing by the window.

Her expression shifted through three things in under a second: surprise, calculation, recovery.

"I didn't realize you had company," she said to Nico.

"Close the door," he said.

She did.

She even smiled.

"Estelle," she said warmly.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"No," Estelle said.

"You didn't."

Camille chose the empty chair across from Nico and sat down as if she'd been invited.

"I've been thinking about last night," she said.

"I may have overreacted.

It was a stressful evening and I—"

"Camille," Nico said.

She stopped.

He slid the account statements across the table.

She looked at them.

She didn't touch them.

"I'd like to talk about Vellore Consulting," he said.

A pause.

Very short.

"That's a private investment vehicle," she said.

"I set it up before we were engaged.

It has nothing to do with the estate."

"The transfers do."

"Those were authorized.

You were incapacitated.

Someone had to manage the operating expenses."

"Two hundred thousand pounds in operating expenses."

"Over fourteen months.

That's not unusual for an estate this size."

"Transferred to a private company registered in your name."

"For accounting purposes.

Marcus can confirm that kind of structure is—"

"Marcus found the second director," Nico said.

Camille looked at Marcus.

Marcus looked back at her and said nothing.

"Dr.

Fenwick," Nico said.

Something happened in Camille's face.

The warmth went out of it completely.

What was left was older and harder and far more honest.

"That's a coincidence," she said.

"Is it."

"He's a well-connected man.

He sits on several boards."

"He prescribes my medication."

"Nico—"

"He prescribed the tablets that Adeline found." His voice was still level.

Still quiet.

"The tablets that weren't in any log.

That weren't in any pharmacy record.

That were in my evening dose for — how long, Adeline?"

"Based on the count discrepancies," Adeline said, "at least six weeks."

Camille turned to look at her.

"You have no idea what those tablets are," she said.

"You're a nurse, not a pharmacist.

You found some pills and invented a story around them."

"The lab will tell us what they are," Marcus said.

"In about thirty-six hours."

Camille stood up.

"I'm not going to sit here and be accused of—"

"Sit down, Camille." Estelle's voice was not loud.

It didn't need to be.

Camille sat.

"I want you to think carefully," Estelle said, "about what you say next.

Because what you say in this room, in front of these witnesses, will be the foundation of everything that follows.

And I am not," she said, "a patient woman."

Camille looked around the room.

At Estelle.

At Marcus.

At Adeline.

Then she looked at Nico.

And for the first time since Adeline had known her, Camille looked like someone who understood that the ground had shifted and she had not felt it happening.

"I want to speak to my solicitor," she said.

"Of course," Marcus said pleasantly.

"You're going to need one."

Camille stood again.

This time no one stopped her.

At the door, she turned.

"You think you've found something," she said to Nico.

"You think this nurse and your grandmother and a folder of numbers means something." Her voice was controlled, but only just.

"I kept this estate running while you were broken.

I kept the staff paid.

I kept the investors calm.

I kept everything together while you sat in that chair and felt sorry for yourself."