Elaine stepped up beside him, feigning a look of heartbroken sympathy. “Victor, please, don’t upset her. The poor girl is hallucinating from the stress of motherhood. We’ve been trying to get her help.”
Lena did not pull away from Adrian’s agonizing grip. She didn’t scream or cry. She looked directly over Adrian’s shoulder, locking eyes with Victor.
“Three weeks ago,” Lena stated, her voice eerily calm and entirely devoid of hysteria, slicing through the family’s lies like a scalpel, “I gave birth to your great-grandson in a severely underfunded public county clinic because the deposit for the private maternity ward bounced. Last week, I received a forty-eight-hour eviction notice for the studio apartment Adrian moved me into. I have been eating ramen noodles to ensure my breastmilk doesn’t dry up.”
Victor’s jaw hardened into solid granite. The terrifyingly perceptive billionaire saw past the bespoke suits and the diamonds. He saw the sheer, unadulterated terror radiating from his daughter and his grandson.
He ignored Adrian completely. Victor reached into his tailored pocket and pulled out a sleek, encrypted satellite phone.
He didn’t ask questions. He issued a command that made the blood drain entirely from Elaine’s face, leaving her looking like a corpse.
“Call Mercer, Vale, and Roth. Bring the entire forensic accounting team to the house immediately,” Victor barked into the receiver. He looked at the heavy, oak double doors of the mansion. “And tell the perimeter security team to lock down the estate. No one—absolutely no one—leaves this house tonight.”
