Control that he had tried to steal. Control that I had reclaimed.

And this time, I wasn’t just defending. I was observing, anticipating, ready. Friday, or any other day he might have chosen, would no longer dictate my actions. Not him. Not Morgan. Not anyone.

I looked at Natalie. “We prepare. We observe. And we move first.”

She smiled faintly, approvingly. “Exactly.”

Outside, the late afternoon sun was dim and cold, washing the city in pale light. The house, the offices, the bank—everything he had tried to manipulate—was no longer a secret theater. It was documented, witnessed, and legally anchored.