Mag-log inRowan's Point of ViewThe room was cold.Not the kind of cold that comes from poor heating. The deliberate kind. The kind that is maintained carefully because discomfort is a tool and someone in this building understood how to use it.The light above the metal table was dim and yellow. The kind of light that makes everything look slightly worse than it actually is. The walls were grey. The floor was grey. The table was metal and the chair beneath me was hard in a way that stopped being merely uncomfortable after the first hour and became something closer to punishment.I sat with my arms stretched out in front of me on the table.To my left were the two men who had walked me out of my own building. They had not introduced themselves. They had not needed to. They were the kind of men whose function was self-explanatory. They sat with their hands flat on the table and their eyes forward and their faces arranged into the particular blankness of people who had been told to be present and
Janet's Point of ViewThe hospital room had its own kind of silence.Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that rests. The kind that presses. The kind that sits on your chest and reminds you with every passing minute that something important and fragile is happening in this room and there is nothing you can do but wait and watch and stay.I had been waiting and watching and staying for three days.The chair beside Grandma's bed had become the shape of my body. I knew every crack in the ceiling above me. I knew the particular sound the monitor made when it cycled through its readings. I knew the shift change times of every nurse on this floor.I had not slept properly. I had barely eaten. Peter had brought food at some point yesterday and I had picked at it without tasting anything and set it aside.Grandma lay in the bed to my left.She looked smaller than she had ever looked. The woman who filled rooms with her presence, who gripped lapels and swung canes and threatened to disown gr
Edward's Point of ViewThe knock came at exactly the time I had scheduled it.I had learned over the years that punctuality was one of the first things that told you about a person. About how seriously they took what they were doing. About whether they understood that your time had value.Marcus was punctual. He always had been.He came in and closed the door behind him with the quiet efficiency of a man who had learned that certain conversations required that kind of care. He stood across from my desk. Dark suit. Straight back. The face of someone who had spent years doing difficult things and had made peace with all of them."Everything is moving as planned," he said.I looked at him."He should be behind bars within the next few days," Marcus continued. "The agents have what they need. The documentation we arranged has been placed correctly. The inquiry is accelerating."I leaned back in my chair slowly."Good," I said. "I want it fast. No delays. No procedural slowdowns." I held h
Janet's Point of ViewGrandma's hands were shaking.Not violently. Just that small, barely visible tremor that appears when someone is trying very hard to hold themselves together and the effort is showing at the edges.She was sitting in her chair. The one she always sat in. The one with the worn armrests that she had refused to replace for years because her husband had bought it. She was sitting in it now with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes very bright and her face doing the difficult work of staying composed."It's allegations, Grandma," I said. I sat close to her. Close enough that my knee was almost touching hers. "Nothing has been proven. Nothing. These things happen with companies of that size. People make accusations. Investigations happen. It does not mean guilt."Grandma looked at me."You really believe that?" she said. Her voice was thinner than usual."I do," I said. And I meant it. Whatever Rowan was, he was not a man who cut corners with money. "I believe in h
Janet's Point of ViewI read the article three times.The first time my eyes moved too fast. Skipping over words. Catching only the large ones. Rowan. Tax. Government. Inquiry.The second time I slowed down and made myself read every sentence properly. Government agents from the tax revenue service had been seen at Rowan's company building that afternoon. Multiple sources had confirmed their presence. The situation was described as still unfolding. But an insider had spoken to the paper and said that Rowan had been unable to satisfactorily answer the questions put to him by the agents.The third time I read it I was looking for something specific. Something that would tell me this was exaggerated. That the paper had stretched a routine visit into a headline because routine visits don't sell papers.I didn't find it.I set the newspaper down on the cushion beside me.Was Rowan in trouble? Real trouble? The kind that didn't resolve itself quietly and move on? The kind that left marks?I
Janet's Point of ViewPeter was still holding the papers.I walked into the room fully and closed the door behind me. My legs felt strange. Like the floor had shifted slightly beneath them and hadn't fully settled back."Peter," I said again."Don't," he said.Not loud. Not sharp. Just firm. The single word of a person who has decided they are done being managed.I sat down on the chair across from him. My bag was still in my hand. I set it down slowly on the floor."Let me explain," I said."Were you still sleeping with him?" Peter asked. He looked at me directly. No warmth in the look. No anger either. Just the flat, clear eyes of someone who needed the truth and was going to wait for it however long that took. "After the divorce. Were you and Rowan still—""No," I said immediately. "No. Never. I would never." I pressed my hands together in my lap. "I found out after. The divorce was already done. Everything was already signed and finished and I found out after all of it."Peter loo
Janet’s Point of ViewThe next Friday came faster than I expected.I stood in front of my closet, fingers brushing against hangers like I was searching for a new version of myself.I needed something that wasn’t just beautiful — something that would make me feel confident.Something that would tell
Janet’s Point of ViewI was just finishing up at the clinic, trying to close a few files before heading to meet Professor Collins. He’d promised to help me review my research progress, and I couldn’t wait to show him how much I’d done.But before I could reach for my bag, there was a knock at the d
Janet's Point of View "Take care, sis," Peter said, leaning across the car seat as I stepped out. My youngest brother's smile was warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners just like mine do. I waved as he drove away, then turned to face the building. Westside Clinic , My new workplace now. I still
Janet's Point of ViewTracy's question hit me hard. I froze for a second, not because I didn’t want to answer, but because I didn’t know where to start. My past wasn't something I was proud of, and I never wanted to bring any of it into this fresh beginning with my new family—especially not anythin







