LOGINVICTORIABy 3 AM, I finally had a name.Roland Hess.I stared at it on Elio’s message like it might change if I blinked. But it didn’t. It remained there.Roland Hess was a digital forensics expert. He was the kind of man who didn’t just find the truth. He could also erase it. Or worse, replace it.I sat on the edge of the couch and read Elio’s notes again. Clark was pacing near the window. He had been quiet for a while, but I could tell he wasn’t resting either. Nobody was.“This guy,” I said, holding up my phone, “Name’s Roland Hess.”Clark stopped walking. “Who is he?”“A forensics specialist,” I said. “He makes fake things look real.”Clark’s face tightened a little. “So the photo…”“Was built,” I finished.The room went quiet again.I felt my eyes narrow a bit as I kept reading Elio’s breakdown. Roland had worked with federal court systems before. Not as a judge or lawyer, but behind the scenes with Systems and files, handling evidence.I felt something cold go through me because
VICTORIAI didn’t sleep again after Clark showed me that photo.I just stood there in the quiet apartment, holding the phone in my hand, staring at it like it would change if I looked long enough. But it didn’t. It stayed the same.It was me in the picture. But not the me I knew.This was the old version of me. The one from that night. My anniversary night. The night everything with Trent broke.I could even see the dress clearly. I remembered that dress too well. I had picked it myself. I had smiled in it when I thought that night would mean something good.But in the photo, I was standing over a man I didn’t know, and my hands were raised like I had done something. As I stared at it again, my chest felt tight.“This is fake,” I whispered to myself.Clark was still standing near the table. He looked tense. His jaw was tight like he was holding back a lot.“We should call Calloway now,” he said.“No,” I said quickly.He frowned. “Victoria, this is serious. If he sees this before we ex
VICTORIAI had just seven hours.The first thing I did was call Dr. Dale. She picked up on the second ring and I told her exactly what Serena had filed and why it couldn't stand. She didn't waste time asking questions I hadn't answered yet. She just said, "I'll draft the counter-filing tonight. I need your authorization signature in an hour.""You'll have it in thirty minutes," I said.I ended the call and looked at Clark, then said, "I also need a formal misconduct complaint against Serena to the state bar."He nodded and started typing on his laptop.The room had cleared out quickly once everyone understood what had happened. This part of the work wasn't for a group. It was mine alone to handle.I spent the first hour with Jane Dale. We went through Serena's motion line by line, dismantling it, and then we built the counter-filing around the most important point: the motion had been submitted without my knowledge or consent and contradicted the position I had held throughout the cas
VICTORIATen days.I drove back with the folder on my lap and the number sitting in my head like a stone.Ten days to do something that would take most people ten months to prepare for. A federal court testimony wasn't something to walk into casually. There were depositions, legal prep sessions, coordination with prosecutors, and the whole process of making sure that what was said on record couldn't be twisted or used against you later.And that wasn't even the hardest part. The hardest part was everything else happening at the same time.I started laying it all out in my head on the drive back.I thought about the court case first. The judge was expected to deliver his ruling within the week. That ruling needed to be clear, without any complications, or the entire trust situation would get messier. If the ruling came back wrong or came back at the wrong time, then everything else would get tangled up in the fallout.Then the probate filing. Dr. Dale was moving as fast as she could, b
VICTORIAI didn't sleep.By the time the sun came up, I had read every document attached to Helena Cross's filing at least four times. I had run her name through every database I had access to, pulled her bar records, her case history, and her published legal opinions. I even looked at her pictures for longer than I probably needed to.She was in her mid-thirties. I could see Emmett in her, just slightly. Maybe it was the jaw or the way she carried herself in the one professional photo I found.I set the picture down and looked at the ceiling.Three women, three claims, one dead man, and a network of people who had spent seventeen years making sure none of us ever ended up in the same room.I was Emmett Cross's biological daughter. My mother had told me, and the DNA confirmed it.Diana was his daughter through Margaret, conceived during their affair. She had grown up knowing, or eventually finding out, and had spent years twisting that knowledge into something she could use.And Helen
VICTORIAI didn't waste time after Diana said what she said.My mother wasn't in Connecticut anymore. Someone had moved her. And Diana knew exactly where.I kept my voice steady. "Where is she?""I'll tell you," Diana said. "But you need to hear the rest of it first. Because what's coming in the next forty-eight hours is way bigger than just your mother."I didn't like that. I didn't like being told what to hear first. But I stayed quiet and allowed her to talk.Diana had been moved to a safe house. Not a prison or a holding room, but a proper safe house, fully arranged and paid for by Celestine's people. And that, Diana explained, was the part that should worry me."She's not keeping me here because she's afraid of me," Diana said. "She's keeping me here because she thinks I'm useful."That seemed obvious right after Diana explained it to me. Celestine didn't invest in things that weren't going to pay off. If she had moved Diana into protection, it meant she had already decided Diana
ISABELLA I didn’t sleep that night.I tried. I really did. I lay in bed with my laptop closed, staring at the ceiling, telling myself I was being dramatic. That what happened at the preview was just another rich-people stunt. Smoke, mirrors, and ego.But my gut wouldn’t shut up.It kept twisting l
VICTORIAIsabella didn’t waste time.She came straight to my office the next morning, hair pulled into a messy knot, sunglasses still on even though we were indoors. That alone told me how bad it was. Isabella never hid behind accessories unless she was tired or angry. Sometimes both.She shut the
CLARKThe water didn’t rush in all at once. It crept in bit by bit.That was the worst part.It slid across the concrete floor slowly. The smell hit me first as the odor of old metal and river rot invaded my nostrils and burned the back of my throat.My boots were soaked within seconds.“Move,” I b
VICTORIAThe secure location we went to smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee. It was the kind of smell that was clean, but felt like it was hiding something rotten underneath. I hated it the moment I stepped in.Diana sat on the edge of the couch, wrapped in a thick gray blanket. Her knees we







