“Lock it all down,” I said. “Every account. Every deed. Revoke the lake house transfer. Fraud invalidates the agreement. By Saturday night, I want them holding nothing.”
The final piece came on Thursday.
Madison found me at a café while I was pretending to read the newspaper.
She sat across from me.
“Charles, let’s stop pretending,” she said. “You’re dying. Everyone knows it.”
“I feel fine.”
She leaned closer.
“Sign the medical power of attorney over to me today, or I go to the press. I’ll say you were inappropriate with me. I’ll say the stress is threatening the baby. I’ll ruin your legacy before you’re buried.”
I looked at her with quiet amazement.
“You would destroy the family name?”
“I don’t care about your name. I care about the money. Sign it.”
I nodded slowly.
“I’ll have the papers at the gala.”
She smirked and left.
She never noticed the black digital recorder on the table, disguised as a fountain pen.
By Saturday night, the trap was ready.
The grand ballroom of The Langham glittered with chandeliers, champagne, and three hundred of the city’s most powerful people.
Margaret stood at the podium in a cream silk gown, dabbing her eyes.
