Rebecca visited me with a grim smile.

“Your grieving widower is becoming impatient.”

I rested both hands over my stomach.

“Then we should stop making him wait.”

Part 5 — The New King of Mercer Biomedical

Grant moved faster than even I had expected.

Within forty-eight hours, he pressured senior executives to recognize him as the temporary representative of my estate, despite Rebecca repeatedly explaining that the trust provisions prevented any transfer until my death was legally confirmed.

Rather than retreat, he became aggressive.

He contacted directors individually, warned them that prolonged uncertainty could damage investor confidence, and suggested that Mercer Biomedical needed decisive leadership before competitors exploited the crisis. Several board members immediately recognized his ambition, but Grant mistook their silence for obedience.

On the third morning after my fall, he scheduled an emergency board meeting at Mercer Biomedical’s headquarters in Bellevue.

I watched from a secured office two floors below while a concealed conference feed showed Grant entering the room in a tailored black suit. Twenty directors sat around the long walnut table, many of them people who had known me since I was a graduate student working beside my father.

Grant took my chair.

That detail affected me more deeply than I expected.

He placed his leather portfolio on the table and bowed his head for several seconds, performing grief before transforming himself into the executive he apparently believed he had always deserved to become.

“Everyone in this room understands the magnitude of Evelyn’s loss,” he began solemnly. “However, grief cannot become paralysis, particularly when thousands of employees and patients depend on this company.”

Several directors exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Grant continued.

“As Evelyn’s husband and the presumed administrator of her estate, I am prepared to assume temporary executive authority until all succession matters are resolved.”

Director Thomas Avery leaned forward.

“Your authority over her estate has not been established.”

Grant’s jaw tightened.

“That is a procedural issue, not a strategic one.”

He opened his portfolio and distributed documents proposing an emergency vote that would place corporate accounts, licensing agreements, and research funds under his direct supervision.

Then he leaned back in my chair.

“Evelyn is gone, and refusing to accept reality will not bring her back.”

Rebecca, standing beside me downstairs, looked toward the elevator.

“I think that is our invitation.”

Part 6 — The Woman Who Refused to Stay Dead

The boardroom doors opened before Grant could call for the vote.

Rebecca entered first, followed by two federal prosecutors and several agents. I walked behind them wearing a dark navy maternity suit, moving more carefully than usual because every step still pulled painfully against bruised muscles.

Conversation stopped instantly.

One director dropped his pen.

Another stood so abruptly that his chair struck the wall.

Grant turned toward the doorway with visible irritation before recognition transformed his face.

For several seconds, he simply stared.

His skin drained pale while his mouth opened without producing sound, and the confidence that had filled the room disappeared so completely that he suddenly seemed much smaller than the man who had pushed me from the helicopter.

I walked toward the table and stopped opposite him.

“Good morning, Grant.”

His hands gripped the back of my chair.

“Evelyn?”

“You seem surprised.”

He shook his head rapidly as though rejecting what his own eyes were showing him.

“That isn’t possible. They searched the water for two days.”

I glanced toward the seat he had claimed.

“Apparently they were searching for the wrong thing, because I was never an accident victim.”

His eyes moved toward the agents.

“What is this?”

I held his gaze.

“This is what happens when a man tries to murder his pregnant wife because he thinks marriage entitles him to her company.”

Grant recovered just enough composure to become dangerous again.

“She is confused,” he said, turning toward the directors. “She suffered catastrophic trauma, and none of you should accept these accusations without medical evaluation.”

Rebecca placed a tablet on the table.

“Fortunately, Mrs. Mercer-Holloway’s memory is not the primary evidence.”

Grant froze.

The recording began.

Wind roared through the conference speakers while the wide-angle footage showed the helicopter cabin, Grant’s face, my movement toward the doorway, and his hands deliberately driving me backward.

Nobody could reasonably mistake what happened.

Then his recorded voice came through the speakers.

“Finally.”

The room became completely silent.

Grant stepped backward.

“That video has been manipulated.”

Rebecca answered calmly.

“Federal forensic analysts disagree.”

Part 7 — When the Performance Ended

Grant’s composure collapsed with astonishing speed.

He pointed toward me as though volume could rewrite the evidence.

“She planned this! She wanted to destroy me, and she manufactured everything because she knew our marriage was failing.”

I stared at him across the table.

“Did I manufacture your overseas transfers too?”

His face changed.

One prosecutor opened a file containing financial records recovered during the investigation.

“Mr. Holloway, the government has documented multiple transfers connected to accounts established weeks before the attempted homicide, along with communications concerning corporate succession and access to Mrs. Mercer-Holloway’s holdings.”

Grant looked toward the directors, apparently searching for somebody willing to rescue him.

Nobody moved.

The lead federal agent stepped forward.

“Grant Holloway, you are under arrest in connection with the attempted premeditated murder of Evelyn Mercer-Holloway, attempted murder of her unborn child under applicable charging theories, financial fraud, obstruction, and false statements made during a federal investigation.”

As the agent reached for his wrists, Grant finally looked at me rather than the room.

For the first time, I saw genuine fear.

“Evelyn, listen to me. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”