Beatrice read it, her face tightening for less than a second before it softened into practiced sympathy. “This is sick,” she whispered. “Someone is playing a cruel game with your guilt.”

Julian — Beatrice’s son from a previous marriage, and chief financial officer of the Sterling Group — appeared behind her. “Hand me the phone, Alexander,” he said smoothly, reaching out.

“I’ll have our digital security team trace it. It’s obviously an extortion attempt.”

Alexander pulled the phone against his chest. “Nobody touches this.”

Beatrice lowered her voice, glancing at the wealthy guests. “Darling, Valerie is dead. You signed the death certificate. You stood beside me at the funeral.”

“I stood at a funeral beside a sealed casket,” Alexander said, his voice trembling. “I never saw her body.”

The words hung in the air. Julian went rigid. “The hospital confirmed it. The attorneys verified it. You’re not going to unravel over a scam text.”

The phone buzzed again. This time a blurry photo loaded — a young woman seen from behind, in a black graduation gown, standing before a brick university archway.

On her left wrist, clear in the sunlight, gleamed a silver bracelet with a crescent moon charm.

Alexander stopped breathing. “That bracelet was lost in the wreckage,” he whispered.

Beatrice lunged, trying to snatch the phone from his hand. He caught her wrist in midair on instinct. “No.”

The string quartet kept playing in the ballroom, but in the private study, Alexander’s world was coming apart.