A wire transfer had just cleared, confirming the purchase of a new property in my own name.

It was a beautiful, secluded home on a quiet street, far away from the shadow of the Ralston name.

The phone buzzed again, showing a text message from an unknown number.

I opened the message.

The screen lit up with a single line of text that made my heart stop.

The text was from Marcus, my lead corporate attorney.

“The bank has officially rejected Graham’s emergency restructuring request,” the message read.

“Foreclosure papers are being served at the Highland Park mansion in one hour.”

I stared at the glowing screen as the SUV turned onto Mockingbird Lane.

My heart beat in a slow, steady rhythm.

It was not panic that I felt, but a deep, quiet sense of relief.

“Is everything okay, Mommy?” Hazel asked from the backseat.

I turned around in my seat and smiled at her.

“Everything is perfect, sweetie,” I said.

The Texas sun beat down on the pavement, creating a shimmering haze over the road.

Carlos drove us north, away from the familiar, suffocating streets of Highland Park.