Sir, are you hiring a housekeeper? I can clean, cook, anything. Please… my little girl hasn’t eaten.

The dining room of the Vance estate looked like a museum. Crystal chandeliers cast a cold, blinding light over the mahogany table. The air smelled of expensive wine and ruthlessness.

I sat to my mother’s right. The dutiful heir. Eleanor Vance sat at the head, holding court. She wore pearls that cost more than most people made in a lifetime. She smiled at the board members, pouring charm and poison in equal measure.

“Daniel has been working tirelessly on the acquisition,” she said, placing a manicured hand on my arm. Her touch made my skin crawl. I thought of the bruise on Lena’s cheek. I thought of the cold November rain.

“He has my drive,” she added, her eyes locking onto mine. “Nothing distracts him.”

“Thank you, Mother,” I said, offering a practiced, empty smile.

Inside, my mind was racing. How did she do it? Who were the doctors who signed the death certificate? Who were the police officers who falsified the crash report? My mother was powerful, but she couldn't build a conspiracy of that magnitude alone. She needed fixers.

I watched the men around the table. Marcus, the family lawyer. Trent, the head of our private security. Were they in on it? Did they know that the woman I loved had been locked away in some dark corner of the world while they drank my mother’s wine?

“You’re quiet tonight, Daniel,” Marcus noted, swirling his scotch.

“Just tired, Marcus. The market is volatile.” I took a sip of water. I needed a clear head. I had left Lena and Grace in my penthouse, guarded by the only two men I personally employed outside of the family payroll. I had ordered them to shoot anyone who tried to enter, even if it was the police.

“Rest is for the weak, Daniel,” my mother chimed in, cutting her steak with surgical precision. “We must protect the legacy. Family is everything.”

Family is everything. The hypocrisy of those words almost made me sick. She had orchestrated a fake death. She had kidnapped her own grandchild.

I needed access to her private servers. I needed the offshore accounts she used to pay for off-the-books operations. I couldn't just confront her. If I did, she would deny it. She would use her billions to crush Lena, take Grace legally, and probably have me committed. No. To kill a snake, you don't step on its tail. You cut off its head.

Dinner dragged on for two more torturous hours. When the guests finally left, my mother cornered me in the hallway.

“You look pale,” she said, reaching up to touch my face. I forced myself not to pull away.

“Just a headache.”

“Take care of yourself, Daniel. You are all I have left.” She smiled softly. A mother’s loving smile. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen.

“Goodnight, Mother,” I said.

I walked to my car, the rain still coming down in sheets. As I started the engine, I pulled out a burner phone I had bought on the way to the estate. I dialed a number I hadn't used in five years.

“Yeah?” a gruff voice answered.

“Victor. It’s Daniel Vance. I need your skills. Off the grid.”