registered years earlier.
Five years earlier.
The same company had funded the photographer who followed me to the Carlton.
Alexander stared at the screen.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
Vanessa raised her voice.
“She’s manipulating you!”
I clicked another file.
An audio recording began playing.
Vanessa’s voice filled the salon.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
“Once Claire is gone, Alexander stops thinking with his heart. Then we control the trust.”
Alexander went completely still.
The recording continued.
Vanessa discussing the forged emails.
The intercepted pregnancy letters.
The family trust.
And eventually, the
