The signature was smooth and clear.

I handed the document to Sterling.

Sterling took it, his expression grim but professional.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ralston,” Sterling said. “We will begin the asset recovery process immediately.”

Graham stared at the signed paper as if it were a death warrant.

His phone began to vibrate on the table, the screen lighting up with his mother’s name.

Gloria was calling.

He didn’t answer it.

He just stared at the phone as it buzzed against the polished wood.

“This isn’t over,” Graham whispered.

I stood up and smoothed my skirt.

“It is for you,” I said.

I picked up my briefcase and walked toward the door.

As I stepped back into the hallway, my own phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw a text from my private investigator.

I opened the message.

There was a photo attached, taken just an hour ago at the Dallas Country Club.

It showed Gloria, dressed in cream silk, gesturing grandly to a team of florists putting up massive archways of white roses.

Below the photo, the investigator had written a short message.