A woman’s laugh — Vanessa. “And the final transfer? You’re sure she won’t contest it before the ink is dry?”

“She can’t,” Grant replied, ice clinking against glass. “She doesn’t know what day it is, V. By the time we file the divorce, she won’t have the legal standing to hire a lawyer, let alone fight me.

It’s done.”

Cold dread coiled in my gut, then hardened into something else. This wasn’t just a divorce. It was an execution. They were going to lock me in an asylum and strip my bones clean.

I watched the audio waveform spike as Vanessa spoke again. “Just make sure Apex Holdings is insulated. If the feds ever look closely at the licensing revenue we diverted—”

“They won’t,” Grant interrupted smoothly. “And even if they do — whose name is on the Apex registration?”