“Instead, I spent my final months working with Lydia to ensure he would never touch a single dollar of the Hayes legacy.”

“The estate, the vaults, and every bottle of my collection belong exclusively to a protected trust.”

“If Evan attempts to access or sell any part of it, the automatic forfeiture clause in our family trust activates.”

“He will leave this marriage with absolutely nothing.”

I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page.

*Arthur Hayes.*

His handwriting was as firm as his resolve had been.

Lydia watched me, her expression grim but steady.

“He wanted you to have the proof in your hands when you confronted him,” she said.

“Is Malcolm ready?” I asked.

The deputy nodded, his gloved hand resting near his belt.

“The search warrant for this property is signed and active,” Malcolm said.

We walked up the concrete steps to Sloane’s front door.

The brass knocker was shaped like a lion’s head.

I didn’t use it.

Instead, I turned the handle, and the door clicked open.

The air inside smelled of roasted duck, expensive perfume, and old oak.