My father had refused to sign any sales agreement, and three weeks later, two men broke in, poured gasoline near the main staircase, and cut the wires to fake a short circuit.
“One of the men has already confessed on an audio recording,” Parker said, handing me a small flash drive. “He specifically says that Tristan paid them to do it.”
I felt as though the floor were dropping out from under me because my father hadn’t died in an accident; he was murdered by the man I shared a bed with every night.
I wanted to rush to the district attorney, but Parker held up a hand.
“We have evidence, but we need to secure it properly, or they will just hide the money, bribe a judge, and claim you are making this up out of jealousy.”
So, I did the one thing they would never expect: I went back home.
I walked through the door with my eyes swollen and red, feigning total defeat and exhaustion, and Tristan greeted me with a performance of fake tenderness.
“My love, it is so good that you are finally back home,” he said, touching my arm.
Isolde smiled warmly when I told them that I was tired, depressed, and that I couldn’t bear to work at the company anymore.
“I was thinking of quitting and letting Tristan manage all of my assets from now on,” I whispered, keeping my eyes downcast. “Maybe he can handle everything much better than I have been able to lately.”
Tristan’s eyes lit up like he had just been handed the keys to the federal reserve.
Within a week, he signed, without even reading a single line, the legal documents my lawyer prepared, thinking he was gaining control of all my properties.
In reality, he had agreed to put everything into a blind trust where I was the sole administrator, meaning he had absolutely no right to sell, mortgage, or withdraw even a single cent.
That same night, to finish setting the trap, I gave up the master bedroom and locked myself in a small spare room on the other side of the house.
Beforehand, Parker had discreetly installed cameras and high-fidelity microphones in the living room, the kitchen, and the master bedroom.
The next day, Tristan brought Letitia to live in my house, and Isolde welcomed her with fresh-baked bread, flowers, and tears of joy.
“Finally, my grandchild is coming to her true home,” she chirped, looking at me with pure venom.
I watched them silently through the security app on my phone, listening as they laughed and talked about their future.
That night, a microphone picked up Tristan telling Letitia, “Tomorrow I will mortgage the house, pay off the debt, and then sell the old folks’ land, and no one will ever be able to prove I ordered them to burn it.”
When I heard that confession, I stopped breathing for a few seconds, letting the cold reality settle in my bones.
The truth was finally complete, and they had no idea that the bomb was about to explode.
Chapter 3: The Reckoning
The next morning, I dressed exactly as I had not in months, wearing a sharp, crisp white suit with my hair pulled back tightly and a layer of blood-red lipstick.
I didn’t look like a grieving widow; I looked like a woman who was about to bury every single one of them.
From my small room, I heard Tristan walking downstairs with the arrogant stride of a man who thought he had already won everything.
Letitia was laughing in the kitchen, and Isolde was telling her that by noon they would have enough cash to pay off their debts and finally kick me out like a wet dog.
I sat there slowly sipping my black coffee, waiting for the clock to hit the right time.
At precisely nine-forty, Tristan walked into the bank with the deed to the house and a stack of fraudulent contracts, and at ten-twelve, his phone rang.
I let it ring six times before answering.
“What did you do, Grace?” he roared into the phone. “The bank is telling me the house cannot be mortgaged, and all of my personal accounts are frozen!”
“They aren’t frozen, Tristan; they are just protected from idiots,” I said calmly.
“Don’t play these games with me right now because I need that money today!”
“I know you do,” I replied, “and the men you owe that eight million dollars to do not seem like the patient type.”
There was a long silence, then his breathing became shallow and rapid.
“Who told you about that?”
“You did, last night, in our bedroom, while you were bragging to your mistress.”
I hung up, and not even thirty minutes later, Tristan arrived back at the house like a cornered animal, kicking my door open while Isolde and Letitia followed closely behind.
“Give me back my money right now!” Tristan shouted, raising a hand as if he were going to strike me.
I held up my smartphone, calmly hitting a button on the screen.
“You touch me, and this video goes straight to my lawyer, the police, and every single one of your gambling associates.”
He froze in place, his face turning an unhealthy shade of grey.
Isolde stepped forward, her face twisted in rage.
“You ungrateful wretch, we took you in as our daughter-in-law, and now you are trying to steal from my own son.”
“You didn’t take me in from anywhere, Isolde,” I replied, my voice echoing in the hallway. “I paid for this house, your expensive vacations, your doctors, your meals, and even the flowers you gave to your son’s pregnant mistress.”
Letitia turned pale and looked at Tristan.
“Tristan said that all of this was yours.”
“Tristan also said that he ordered my parents’ house to be burned to the ground,” I said, my gaze never wavering.
That statement hit the room with the force of a wrecking ball.
Isolde opened her mouth to protest, but she couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, and I stared directly into her cold eyes.
“And you knew everything about it, didn’t you?”