Forty minutes later, I heard his footsteps.

I kept my eyes closed and breathed slowly, evenly.

Daniel stood beside the bed for several long seconds before walking into the walk-in closet.

I heard the quiet electronic beep of our safe.

Squinting through my eyelashes, I watched him pull out two passports, stacks of cash, three velvet jewelry boxes, and a blue folder bearing the logo of Sterling Global—my company.

Or, more accurately, the firm my mother had spent thirty-one years building before leaving me controlling interest.

Daniel packed everything into a leather duffel bag with terrifying composure.

He didn’t look like a man improvising in a panic; he looked like a man executing a well-rehearsed plan.

Then he picked up a small velvet case.

My stomach dropped.

Inside was my mother’s diamond bracelet—the one she wore the day she formally transferred sixty-eight percent of Sterling Global’s voting stock to me.

Daniel had always scoffed at it, calling it a “ridiculously gaudy relic.”

That night, he slipped it straight into his suit pocket.

At 2:37 AM, I heard the garage door close.