The diner near Foley Square buzzed with the late-night chatter of shift workers and stragglers. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
I sat in a booth by the window, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of lukewarm coffee. A young woman with sharp, observant eyes slid into the opposite seat.
“Maya?” she asked, her voice low.
I nodded. “You sent the text?”
“Sarah Sorel,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m a junior paralegal at Kincaid & Associates.”
Her hand was unexpectedly firm. I remembered her from the firm, often moving through the hallways, quiet and efficient.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
Sarah glanced around the diner, then leaned closer. “What Julian is doing is wrong. Eleanor Lindqvist was a client, and she deserves better.”
“He said she was incapacitated.”
Sarah’s lip twitched. “That’s what Kincaid’s firm is trying to prove. But the real story is much darker.”
She pulled a small, generic flash drive from her pocket. She pushed it across the table, careful to keep it partly hidden under the menu.
“Eleanor’s original will,” Sarah whispered. “Arthur Kincaid actively suppressed Page 14.”
“Page 14?” I gripped the mug tighter.
“It contains a forfeiture clause,” she explained. “Any heir who attempts forced renunciation of the will, or tries to coerce another heir, forfeits their entire inheritance. It’s a poison pill for Julian.”
My breath hitched. Eleanor had anticipated this. My grandmother had always been ten steps ahead.
“Why would Kincaid hide it?”
“Julian promised him a significant bonus if he helped secure the estate,” Sarah said, her eyes narrowing. “He’s compromised.”
“What’s on the flash drive?”
“Encrypted medical logs from Mount Sinai Hospital,” she answered. “Eleanor’s actual health records.”
She paused, taking a quick sip of water. “But there’s a problem. Accessing them requires an admin key. It’s held only by Marcus Breckenridge’s accounting firm. Julian has all their resources locked down.”
Sarah pushed a small paper napkin with a scribbled email address towards me. “This is a burner account. Delete any messages after reading.”
“You could lose your job,” I pointed out.
“I know,” she said, a flicker of something close to fear in her eyes. “Or worse. But Eleanor was clear about her wishes. And what Julian is doing… it’s a crime.”
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