Ivy paced the length of the Everest Estate's living room. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them against her temples, muttering to herself. "Grandpa, it's not working."
Sam, sitting in his armchair, regarded her calmly. The old man was a picture of patience—silver hair combed neatly, and a mind sharp enough to outthink half the city. "It never works when you panic," he said quietly. "Sit, child. Breathe."
"I thought confronting him would make things clearer," she admitted. "But it's like every time I see him, my plans melt. He says something, he looks at me, and I—" She shook her head, furious at herself. "It's not supposed to be this hard."
After the loss of her child, Ivy had told her grandfather everything.
Hence tonight's impromptu meeting. Across the room was Mike, the private investigator.
"First, we need to identify why it isn't working," Sam said.
"I…I don't…" Ivy started.
"You still love him," Sam confirmed simply.
