“It’s going to be destructive,” he warned.

I looked out over the city. “No. Destruction is messy. I prefer precision.”

Three days later, Victor threw a party.

Of course he did.

Investors, journalists, and board members filled the house. Clara welcomed them wearing my emerald necklace.

Daniel called me, furious. “Mom, she’s wearing Grandma’s necklace.”

“I know.”

Inside, Victor kissed Clara for the cameras. “A new chapter,” he declared.

Clara had already begun acting like the queen—ordering staff around, firing long-time employees, planning renovations. She believed marrying him meant owning everything.

But she was impatient.

And impatience was dangerous.

Within days, she encouraged Victor to liquidate assets for a luxury project overseas. She introduced him to a broker—Stefan—who promised fast returns and discreet transactions.

Victor liked discretion.

He signed.

Again.

And again.

Each signature crossed lines Malcolm had marked long ago.

Meanwhile, I stayed quiet. Attended events. Let the world think I was broken.

Clara even messaged me: You should collect your things before I redecorate.

I replied: Keep what you can.

She sent back a laughing emoji.

The next morning, Victor stormed into my hotel room.

“You’re making me look bad,” he snapped.

“I thought you wanted peace,” I replied.