Thomas’s head snapped up. “That cabinet is private.”
Naomi held up the court order. “This order covers medical and inheritance-related documents connected to the marriage and claimed illness,” she said. “If they’re in there, they’re covered.”
Thomas’s jaw clenched. “It’s locked.”
Naomi looked at him. “Then unlock it.”
Thomas stared at her for a long moment.
Emily watched him—watched the calculation behind his eyes. He could refuse, but the refusal itself would be evidence. He could stall, but stalling would burn time he didn’t have.
Finally, Thomas reached into his pocket and produced a key.
He handed it to Naomi without speaking.
Naomi unlocked the cabinet.
Inside were neatly labeled folders.
MEDICAL
ESTATE
INHERITANCE
TRUST
FAMILY PLANNING
Emily felt nausea rise.
Naomi pulled out the MEDICAL folder first and flipped it open.
There it was.
The clinic report.
The exact thing Emily had seen on the desk that night.
Satisfactory health.
Favorable long-term prognosis.
No terminal illness.
No year to live.
Emily’s chest tightened so hard she could barely breathe.
Naomi didn’t linger. She photographed it carefully, page by page, making sure the seal and date were visible.
Then she opened INHERITANCE.
A document, typed and signed.
A wealthy aunt’s estate transfer.
Condition: become a legal father within twelve months of her death.
Emily’s pulse hammered. It was real. It was all real.
Naomi photographed everything.
The contract about annulment within a year if no child existed.
The clause about property transferring only with a child.
The timeline—tight, urgent, predatory.
Thomas stood in the doorway, face expressionless. But his hands had gone rigid at his sides.
When Naomi finished, she closed the cabinet, returned the key, and turned to Thomas.
“Thank you,” Naomi said, voice icy. “We’ll be submitting this to the court.”
Thomas’s gaze locked onto Naomi. “You think you’ve won,” he said softly.
Naomi’s voice was calm. “This isn’t about winning,” she said. “It’s about truth.”
Thomas’s eyes flicked to Emily.
For a moment, something almost human crossed his face—not remorse, not guilt. Something like frustration that his plan had been interrupted by someone he’d assumed would stay quiet.
“You could have had everything,” Thomas said to Emily, voice low. “All you had to do was cooperate.”
Emily’s throat burned. She held his gaze.
“You mean surrender,” she said.
Thomas’s smile sharpened. “Call it what you want.”
Emily’s hands trembled, but her voice stayed steady. “You said you were dying,” she said. “You looked my mother in the eye and used that lie to buy me.”
Thomas’s eyes stayed cold. “I offered a trade,” he replied. “You accepted.”
Emily swallowed. “Because you lied,” she said.
Thomas’s jaw tightened. “People lie all the time,” he said softly. “It’s called negotiation.”
The deputy’s voice cut in, sharp. “That’s enough.”
Naomi turned toward the door. “We’re done here,” she said.
Emily walked out without looking back.
Her legs felt shaky as they left the house, but something inside her felt firm for the first time since the night she’d opened that office door.
The truth was no longer just in her memory.
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