Chapter 4: The Valuation of a Legacy

We met in a stark, windowless conference room inside the federal courthouse in Raleigh.

Miranda sat across from me, wrists on the scarred metal table. The polished, untouchable heiress I’d married was gone. Her skin was sallow, her hair dull and unkempt.

She looked hollowed out — a ghost haunting her own body.

“I saw them drag her out to the driveway,” she whispered, unable to meet my eyes, staring at her own pale hands. “Lily tripped. She spilled the drink, and Rowan just… snapped.

His eyes went dead. I stepped toward the bedroom door. I wanted to run down the stairs, Marcus, I swear I did. But my mother was in the hallway.”

A tear cut a track through the dust on her cheek.