The silence in the grand foyer was so heavy you could hear the soft, frantic ticking of Vanessa’s diamond-encrusted wristwatch. I didn’t put my coat back on.

When Vanessa saw Vance, her eyes went wide with panic. "Julian! You promised me if I did this, we’d take everything and leave for Europe!"

Vance spat on the concrete floor. "Shut up, you idiot! You let him play you! You sent me right into his trap!"

"I didn't know!" she screamed. "He was pretending to be brain-damaged! He tricked me!"

I stepped into the room, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest.

"You two deserve each other," I said quietly. "Two parasites who think loyalty is something you buy and sell."

I pulled out two legal documents and placed them on the table.

"Here is what’s going to happen," I explained. "Julian, you are going to sign over every property asset, shipping license, and shell corporation your cartel owns in Georgia to the Whitfield Syndicate. In exchange, I won't hand the federal prosecutor the video footage of you ordering three political assassinations in Atlanta."

Vance’s jaw clenched. He knew he was defeated. He signed the documents with a trembling hand.

"And you, Vanessa," I turned to my former fiancé. "You are going to sign a full confession detailing your corporate espionage, your attempt to poison my medical supplies, and your attempt to frame my house staff. Then, you will spend the next fifteen years in a federal penitentiary."

"Daniel, please!" she wept bitterly. "I loved you! In the beginning, I really did!"

"You loved the mansion, Vanessa," I said coldly. "You loved the money. But you never loved the man."

I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving them to scream at each other in the dark room.

An hour later, I returned to my grand mansion. The blood on the marble floor had been scrubbed clean. The broken glass from the storm had been replaced. The house was quiet, peaceful, and warm.

I walked into the kitchen. Grace was sitting at the wooden table, helping four-year-old Lily draw pictures with crayons.

When Grace saw me, she immediately stood up, her face filled with anxiety. "Mr. Whitfield... is it over?"

I looked at the little girl, who offered me a shy smile, holding up a new drawing—this time, it was a picture of three people: myself, Grace, and Lily, standing in front of a house under a bright yellow sun.