Amelia’s POV
The sabotage didn’t stop with the blueprints.
It got quieter. Smarter. Crueler.
First it was the supplies. Pallets of reclaimed teak flooring—ordered specifically for the Maldives flagship—vanished from the secured warehouse overnight. No forced entry. No alarm triggered. Just empty racks and a single handwritten note left on the concrete floor: “Wrong materials. Wrong designer.”
Then the cameras. Every site we’d begun prepping—three resorts in different time zones—lost footage within the same twenty-four-hour window. Not deleted. Disabled. Someone knew exactly which junction boxes to hit, which cables to snip. The security firm called it “surgical.” I called it personal.
I stopped sleeping more than three hours at a stretch.
The kids noticed. Jaden asked why I kept chec
