Grace’s voice hung in the sterile air of my penthouse, the silence stretching so tightly it felt like it could snap. Outside, the distant wail of police sirens faded away as the authorities hauled Brandon and his mother down to the precinct. But their arrest was no longer the main event. It was merely the fuse.

The heavy metal door groaned as I pushed it open.

Brandon looked up, his bloodshot eyes widening in sheer terror as I stepped into the harsh fluorescent light of the interrogation room. He tried to straighten his posture, attempting a pathetic facsimile of his old, condescending authority.

"Olivia," he choked out, his voice cracking. "Thank God. Listen, this is all a massive misunderstanding. The police—they’re twisting everything. You know me. We were married for five years! You can't let them do this to me."

I walked slowly around the table, pulling out the opposite chair and sitting down. I didn't say a word. I just crossed my legs, rested my hands on the table, and stared at him with a chilling, absolute stillness.

"Olivia? Say something," he stammered, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. "Please. Drop the charges. We can settle this privately. I'll sign over my share of the vacation home, the cars—everything."

"Your share?" I repeated softly, the sound like dry leaves scraping across pavement. "Brandon, you don't own a single thing anymore. Not the cars, not the clothes on your back, not even the designer watch on your wrist. Those were all purchased on lines of credit tied to my personal guarantees. The moment the bank freezes your assets—which happened ten minutes ago—repossessors will be stripping your apartment down to the bare drywall."

He recoiled as if I had struck him across the face. "You... you wouldn't."

"I didn't," I said smoothly. "The federal government did. Along with the civil suits currently being drafted by Grace Parker for corporate fraud, identity theft, and malicious destruction of property."

Brandon slumped forward, burying his face in his hands, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. "Julian... Julian promised me it was foolproof. He said we’d be untouchable once the money cleared."

"Julian Vance is currently boarding a private jet to a non-extradition country, Brandon," I lied smoothly, watching his soul completely leave his body. "And he left zero instructions on how to bail you out. You weren't his partner. You were his patsy."

He jerked his head up, his eyes wide with horror. "No... no, that's not true. I have his texts! I have the offshore account numbers!"

"Save them for your federal prosecutor," I stood up, smoothing down my skirt and looking down at him with utter disdain. "You wanted an audience this morning, Brandon. You wanted the world to see me as broken, hysterical, and defeated. Instead, you gave every investor, every federal investigator, and every tech titan in the country a front-row seat to your total destruction."