I turned and walked out. Behind me, the locksmith began drilling the deadbolts, the grinding noise drowning out Evelyn’s screams about betrayal and bloodlines.

Daniel followed me to the driveway, begging, pleading, offering hollow promises of eternal loyalty. But consequences, long delayed, had finally arrived at his doorstep, wearing polished designer shoes and carrying irrefutable paperwork.

As my driver pulled away, I looked in the rearview mirror. Evelyn wasn’t crying anymore. She was standing on the porch, furiously typing on a black phone I’d never seen before.

My own phone buzzed. The distorted voice again.

“She just authorized the transfer. The Cayman accounts are moving. Did you really think it would be this easy?”

Chapter 5: Rising from the Marble

Three months later, the Beaumont Estate was beautifully, painfully quiet.