For 7 hours, my 8-year-old daughter refused to leave her father's coffin while our entire family begged her to step away.

Grace located Brennan by the following morning.

His full name was Colm Brennan.

He had worked as a logistics coordinator for Vance Cold Chain for six years.

He had a prior record — a fraud conviction from 2014, which Marcus had apparently known about and used as leverage to keep him compliant.

When the state attorney's investigator knocked on his door at 7 AM, Brennan opened it, looked at the badge, and said: "I've been expecting someone."

Grace told me this on the phone while I was in the hospital cafeteria with Chloe, who was eating a bowl of cereal and pretending not to listen.

"He gave a full statement," Grace said.

"He drove Mark to the clinic that morning.

He put the compound in Mark's coffee at Marcus's instruction.

He was told it was a sedative — that Marcus just needed Mark incapacitated for a few hours while the documents were signed." Her voice was even.

"He claims he didn't know Mark would be declared d*ad.

He claims Marcus told him Salgado would monitor Mark and release him quietly once the transfer was complete."

"Do you believe him?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe.

It matters what a jury believes." A pause.

"What I can tell you is that his statement, combined with the bloodwork, the text message, Raymond's records, and Teresa's notebook, is enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Marcus was taken in for questioning this morning at six.

His attorney is with him.

But Farro is a civil litigator, not a crjminal defense attorney, and Marcus hasn't retained anyone else yet." Grace paused.

"He's going to need someone else."

I looked at Chloe across the table.

She had stopped pretending not to listen.

"Is Daddy going to be okay?" she asked.

She had asked this question every few hours since the night of the wake.

Each time, it meant something slightly different.

"Yes," I said.

"Daddy is going to be okay."

She went back to her cereal.

"What about Salgado?" I asked Grace.

"His license has been suspended pending investigation.

He retained a crjminal attorney yesterday afternoon.

He has not yet given a statement, but his attorney has indicated he may be willing to cooperate in exchange for consideration." Grace's voice was dry.

"He'll cooperate.

He knows what the alternative looks like."

I set down my coffee cup.

"Grace," I said.

"What happens now?"

"Now we wait for the formal charges.

That will happen within the next forty-eight hours based on what I'm hearing.

After that, the civil case for the fraudulent transfers begins — that's Raymond's records, and that case is strong." She paused.

"Mark will need to give a deposition once he's well enough.

So will you.

So will Chloe, likely through a child advocate."

"Chloe?"

"She was a witness to Marcus's behavior at the wake.

His attempt to remove her from the casket.

His words to you." A pause.

"She's eight, Claire.

A child advocate will handle it carefully.

But her account matters."

I looked at my daughter, who had finished her cereal and was now drawing something on a paper napkin with a pen she'd found in my bag.

"Okay," I said.

"One more thing." Grace's voice shifted slightly.

"Marcus asked to speak with you.

Through Farro.

He wants a private conversation before the formal charges are filed."

"No."

"I told Farro the same thing.

I wanted you to know he asked."

After I hung up, I sat across from Chloe and watched her draw.

It was a house.

A man and a woman and a small girl standing outside it.

The man was in a bed — she'd drawn wheels on it, a hospital bed — but she'd put him outside the house anyway, in the yard, in the sun.

"What's that?" I asked.

"When Daddy comes home," she said.

I reached across the table and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Soon," I said.

She nodded, very serious, and went back to her drawing.

Three days later, Marcus Vance was formally charged with aggravated battery, conspiracy to commit fraud, and unlawful administration of a controlled substance.

Dr.

Salgado was charged as a co-conspirator.

Brennan entered a plea agreement in exchange for his full cooperation.

The charges landed on a Thursday.

Grace called while I was in a meeting with Raymond and Mark's recovery team.

I stepped into the hallway.

"It's done," she said.

"He's been formally charged."

I leaned against the wall.

Through the window at the end of the corridor, I could see the parking lot, grey and ordinary, a woman loading groceries into a car.

"Thank you," I said.

"Thank your daughter," Grace said.