“That power of attorney was revoked three years ago, Marcus,” Richard said, his tone icy. “Check the probate filings from the Hartford court.”

“On it,” Marcus replied. I could hear the rapid clack of a keyboard over the line. “Yes. I see it. The revocation was filed by Thomas Vale himself.”

Margaret’s face went entirely white. The gold phone in her hand trembled. “Thomas wouldn’t dare,” she whispered.

“The transfer is denied, Mr. Bennett,” Marcus said. “The funds remain in the primary estate trust. I’m locking the account permanently under the court’s emergency order.”

Richard ended the call with a single tap.

The silence in the foyer was deafening.

Margaret stared at her screen as the red error box popped up.

Her fingers twitched. She looked up, her gaze darting from Richard to me, then to the heavy wooden door behind her.

“You’ve ruined everything,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “My son’s legacy. My family’s name.”

“You did this to yourself, Margaret,” I said. “When you stole from my children. When you tried to erase their father.”

She didn’t answer.