The rooftop went silent.
Rain tapped against stone. Wind pulled at coats and loose hair. Somewhere below, machines and guards kept the clinic alive.
Anna looked at Veronica first.
"Why me?"
Veronica lifted one shoulder carefully, wincing at the wound.
"He didn't say."
Oliver's expression turned glacial.
"No."
It was one word, but it carried command, refusal, and threat all at once.
Veronica smirked faintly. "I only delivered the message."
"Then leave."
She considered pushing further, thought better of it, and turned back inside.
Anna watched her go, then looked at Oliver.
"You already know I'm going."
"No."
"You keep reusing that word incorrectly."
He stepped closer.
"My father has lied for years, disappeared by choice, and reappeared under extortion. He does not get private access to you."
"Maybe he wants truth."
"Then he can give it with witnesses."
Anna crossed her arms.
"Maybe he won't speak in front of you."
"That sounds like his problem."
"It becomes ours if he dies with information."
His jaw tightened.
She softened only slightly.
"I'm not asking permission."
"You're not getting it."
Their eyes locked.
The rain sharpened around them.
Then Anna said quietly, "Trust goes both ways."
That landed harder than argument.
Oliver looked away first.
A rare event.
"I don't trust him."
"I know."
"I don't trust this clinic."
"I know."
"I trust you."
She blinked once.
The admission came rough, unwilling, honest.
"Then act like it."
Silence stretched.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Ten minutes."
Anna nearly smiled.
"With security outside."
"Fine."
"Door open."
"Absolutely not."
"Anna."
"Compromise. Door closed, glass visible."
He studied her.
"You negotiate while standing in rain."
"I'm versatile."
A reluctant shadow of amusement touched his mouth.
"Eight minutes."
"Greedy."
Oliver's father had been moved to a private recovery room.
Soft lighting. Medical monitors. Clean lines trying to disguise decades of damage.
He looked weaker here.
Smaller somehow.
Less myth.
More man.
Anna entered alone while two guards remained outside the glass door. Oliver stood farther down the corridor, visible through the panel, arms folded, watching everything.
The older man turned his head slowly when she approached.
"You came."
"You asked."
His eyes moved to the corridor.
"He let you."
"He's learning."
A tired smile touched the father's mouth, then vanished.
"He has your tone already."
"He has many issues already."
That almost drew a laugh from him, but coughing replaced it.
Anna poured water, handed it carefully, then remained standing.
"You wanted to speak."
"Yes."
He studied her for a moment.
"I needed to meet the person who made my son less lonely."
The sentence caught her off guard.
She hid it well.
"You abandoned him."
"Yes."
"You watched from shadows."
"Yes."
"You don't get poetic now."
Pain flickered across his face.
"Fair."
He looked toward Oliver through the glass.
"I thought distance would harden him enough to survive this family."
"It did."
"And damaged him."
"Yes."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"I know."
Anna's voice sharpened.
"Then say something useful."
That made him open them again.
Good.
"There is no inheritance trust," he said quietly.
She stilled.
"What?"
"The documents Adrian showed. The clauses. The bloodline leverage."
"Fake?"
"Pieces of old structures, rearranged into fiction."
Anna's mind raced.
"Then what does Adrian actually want?"
The father's expression darkened.
"Access codes."
"To what?"
He looked directly at her.
"A private reserve my father built after the war. Untouched holdings, bearer assets, metals, accounts no regulator knows exist."
"How much?"
"Enough to buy governments in smaller nations."
Anna went still.
That was not family money.
That was geopolitical danger.
"And only you can access it?"
He shook his head weakly.
"Two signatures."
She understood instantly.
"You and Oliver."
"Yes."
The room changed.
He continued.
"He cannot force Oliver directly. So he uses me. You. Emotion."
Anna looked through the glass at Oliver, still standing guard, unaware of the exact shape of the trap.
"Why tell me instead of him?"
"Because he'll respond with anger."
"And I won't?"
"You'll respond with strategy."
The old man coughed again, breathing harder now.
Then he gripped her wrist with surprising urgency.
"Do not let him sign anything. Not for me. Not for guilt. Not for blood."
Anna held his gaze.
"Then tell him yourself."
"He won't hear me yet."
"Try."
Footsteps sounded outside.
Oliver entered before time was up.
His eyes went straight to the hand on her wrist.
The older man released her immediately.
"Time's over," Oliver said coldly.
Anna turned to him.
"He told me something important."
"I'm sure he did."
She stepped closer.
"There is no inheritance trust."
Oliver went still.
His father looked at him with open regret.
"There's something worse."
And in the corridor, Veronica's voice rang out sharply—
"Oliver! Adrian's gone."
Every monitor in the room suddenly felt too loud.