“They’re locked out of the cash, so they’re trying to get into your digital vault. They’re looking for the tax returns. They want to see how much leverage they have.”

“They have none,” I said, a dangerous, freezing calm settling into my bones. Lauren packed her briefcase, her movements brisk and militaristic.

She divided our findings into distinct, terrifying categories: Fraudulent Transfers, Forged Authorizations, Digital Trespass. “Here are your rules of engagement, effective immediately,” Lauren ordered, standing at my front door.

“You do not answer a single text from Ethan. You do not pick up the phone for Rachel. If they show up on your property, you dial 911. You are a ghost.”

“And when they realize they’re stranded and broke?” I asked. Lauren’s smile was predatory. “They can scream into the void. Or they can speak to me.” She paused, her hand on the doorknob.

“People who have lived a lie this comfortably for this long always make one fatal, arrogant mistake.” “Which is?” “They believe they can talk their way out of it. They’ll come back, Olivia. Prepare yourself.”