I stood in the dim light of the estate’s private study, the same room where Dad used to sign deals that shaped empires. Tonight, the only empire I cared about was the one I’d almost lost—my family.
The evidence was spread across the desk like a confession: bank statements showing payments from Samantha to a private investigator, forged security logs timestamped to make the gala photos look older than they were, emails between her and Lucy coordinating the “art program” lure at the park. Audio clips of Samantha bragging to a mutual contact about how she’d “handled the problem” years ago. Lucy’s signature on documents that claimed Markus’s will was signed under duress—documents that didn’t exist until after his death.
I’d spent weeks gathering it. Quietly. Through contacts in the business
