Page 152 of Savage Surrender

Until now, I thought every dangerous part of me came from him.

“We found a payment trail for Winston’s accident,” I say. “It led back to Montgomery. The guy who hit Winston died a few weeks later.”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks toward the front window, and the horror that moves over her face is so naked I have to look away.

An hour later, Mom has washed her face, and we’re sitting in the living room waiting for Dad when the doorbell chimes.

But it’s not him.

The woman on the porch is in her fifties or sixties, wearing a navy skirt set and holding a briefcase in one hand.

“My name is Leah Valentina,” she says when my mom opens the door. “I’m counsel for the Montgomery Medical Trust. Mr. Dashwood spoke with me yesterday.”

I look at Weller as he steps back into the room. The others have stayed upstairs.

“She located us while you were still recovering,” he says. “I told her you were medically unavailable and that no one would make decisions on your behalf.”

“What is this about?”

At the kitchen table, she opens her briefcase and sorts through the documents before she speaks.

“Dr. Montgomery’s death created an immediate authority problem,” she says. “The clinical decisions remain with licensed staff, but the trust controls funding, appointments, property, and several organizations that can’t operate indefinitely without a controlling trustee. He named you to that position.”

“Me?”

She slides a piece of paper across the table. My name appears in the first paragraph and again on the next page, Bianca Quinn printed in the same black type as the rest of the words I still don’t understand.

“His other daughters will receive substantial trusts and specific properties,” Leah continues. “Those inheritances don’t depend on your cooperation. This isn’t a will reading, if that’s what you’re wondering. The trust became active when his death was certified. Probate will take considerably longer.”

“I don’t understand. We weren’t close.”

“I can’t speak for him, but Emmett Montgomery had a very high opinion of his own judgment. He wouldn’t have selected a successor casually.”

I still don’t understand. I’m not a doctor. I can’t run any of this.

Leah turns several pages toward me. “The trust funds nine outpatient clinics, three residential treatment programs, and temporary housing for omegas leaving unsafe packs. There are physicians, trauma counselors, legal advocates, job-placement services. The majority of his work ran through those programs, and they have some of the strongest long-term outcomes in the country.”

The pages are full of houses where omegas slept safely and clinics where someone believed them when they said they were hurting. I keep looking for the part where the words change shape and show me the man I knew.

“What about the omegas he forced into experiments? I’m not supporting anything like that. Can I stop it? Let them go?”

Leah’s forehead creases. “I’m not sure what you mean by forced. Every participant in the trust’s files has signed consent, an assigned advocate, and documented withdrawal rights.”

Montgomery had my mother’s signature on an injection she didn’t remember authorizing. The restraint marks on my wrists lasted longer than the paperwork that said I was being treated.

“The records can be wrong. My mother signed paperwork she doesn’t remember signing.”

“Then they should be reviewed by people who never worked for him.” She closes the folder in front of her. “As controlling trustee, you can suspend funding and replace administrators immediately. You cannot make clinical decisions, but you control who is permitted to make them and whether a program continues. Everything is available to you—properties, trial records, medications, consent forms. You can speak to every participant through independent advocates if that’s what you want.”

“I want every file preserved. No one deletes anything. And I want outside people talking to the participants before we decide any of those consent forms are real.”

Leah watches me for a moment, then writes it down.

“There is also the financial portion,” she says. “The trust holds a substantial liquid portfolio in addition to the clinics, patents, and controlling interests. His personal estate will be handled separately.”

I find the current valuation halfway down the next page and read it twice because I don’t trust my eyesight.

The word no is already in my mouth when Weller puts his hand over mine. “You can help a lot of people with it. You don’t have to accept it for yourself.”