“No,” I said. “But the matter will be resolved.”
I ended the call and looked out at the city skyline.
For the first time in a long time I felt stable.
I have no control over him.
Control over myself.
Then a new message appeared:
“He’s hiding something else. Check the safety deposit box.”
My stomach tightened.
The box he insisted on handling.
I glanced at Naomi and realized something deeper was happening.
The divorce wasn't the real story.
It was what Trent had hidden in the house he claimed was his.
A few days later he called me back, completely shaken.
“They opened the safe deposit box,” he said. “There are documents in there that change everything.”
“I'm not interested in secrets,” I replied calmly. “I'm interested in facts.”
Silence.
Then, barely audible: “Is this the end?”
“No,” I said. “This is responsibility.”
When I hung up, I smiled faintly.
The story wasn't over.
But this time—
I wasn't the one who was underestimated.
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