The flame burned down to my skin, the searing pain snapping me out of my trance. I dropped the match into the soaked grass at the edge of the porch, watching the tiny spark extinguish against the damp soil. I stared at the towering oak doors of the Vance estate—a palace built on stolen blood and silence.

Victoria’s study was locked at the end of the east wing. Brooke inserted the silver key into the ornate keyhole. It turned with a soft click.

We slipped inside, shutting the heavy oak door behind us. The room smelled of expensive cigars, old paper, and dark mahogany.

"Look behind the painting of the Mediterranean coast," Brooke instructed in a whisper, pointing to a massive gold-framed canvas on the far wall.

I hurried over, swinging the heavy frame away from the wall. Behind it sat a digital wall safe.

"Do you know the code?" I asked, my heart pounding.

"Trevor uses his mother's birthdate for everything," Brooke said, stepping forward and punching six digits into the keypad: 0-4-1-2-5-8.

The red light turned green. The safe clicked open.

Inside were stacks of physical bearer bonds, offshore bank account ledgers, and a thick brown leather folder labeled PROJECT THORNE.

I pulled the folder out and opened it under the dim light of my phone screen.

As I flipped through the yellowed pages, my breath caught in my throat. The horror of what I was reading went far deeper than money.

"Brooke..." I stammered, my hands trembling violently. "This isn't... this isn't just about equity."

Brooke stepped beside me, her eyes scanning the documents. "What are you talking about?"

"David Thorne didn't die of a heart attack twenty years ago," I whispered, reading the autopsy report attached to the back of the file. "He was poisoned. With heavy metal toxins. Administered over six months."

Brooke’s eyes widened. "By who?"

"By Victoria Vance," I said, pointing to a signature at the bottom of a non-disclosure agreement. "She was his private accountant before she married Richard Vance. She poisoned David Thorne, stole his initial capital to fund the Vance logistics firm, and hidden the existence of David’s true heir—you."

"She didn't just want the trust," Brooke realized, her voice shaking for the first time since she woke from her coma. "She killed my biological father, and now she’s trying to kill me to close the loop!"

Suddenly, the overhead lights slammed on.

The blinding light burned our eyes. Standing in the doorway was Victoria Vance, holding a sleek black pistol pointed directly at my chest. Beside her stood Trevor, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker.

"A mother's curiosity is a dangerous thing, Elena," Victoria said coldly, her finger resting lightly on the trigger.

"You murdered David," I snarled, stepping in front of Brooke to shield her body with mine. "You poisoned him, and you built this whole fake royal family on his grave!"

"David Thorne was a weak, sentimental man who didn't deserve his wealth," Victoria replied without a flicker of emotion. "Just like your daughter. I spent twenty years building this family legacy. Do you really think I'm going to let a trailer-park mother and her illegitimate bastard ruin it?"

"Victoria, put the gun down," Trevor stammered, his eyes darting frantically between his mother and us. "We said we were going to commitment her! We didn't agree to shooting them in the house!"

"Shut up, Trevor!" Victoria snapped, her voice cutting like glass. "They know about David! They have the autopsy report! If this leaves this room, we both go to death row!"

Victoria raised the gun, aiming straight between my eyes.