Morgan nodded, stepping back slightly, evaluating. She wasn’t defeated. But she was no longer certain of victory.

I held my folder a little closer, the physical weight grounding me. Every bank alert, every copied document, every carefully filed notice—it was all here. It was proof. Evidence. A shield.

Friday was coming. But this time, it would unfold on my terms—or at least, with me firmly in the middle of it.

And for the first time, I realized something I hadn’t allowed myself to hope: I wasn’t just reacting anymore. I was orchestrating.

And that truth—sharp, clear, irrevocable—was mine.