Victoria Pov:
Month Thirty-Seven.
Brighton called me into his office. The one room in the cabin I wasn't supposed to enter freely.
Where he kept his laptop. His files. His secrets.
"I need to show you something," he said.
He pulled up documents on his screen. Bank accounts. Offshore holdings. Properties registered under various names.
"I want you to have access to all of this," he said. "In case anything happens to me."
"Thomas, nothing's going to."
"Just in case. I'm not young. And I've made enemies. If something happens, I want you to be taken care of. Protected."
He walked me through everything. Account numbers. Passwords. Holdings in the Cayman Islands, Switzerland, and Singapore.
Millions. Tens of millions.
Everything he'd hidden. Everything he'd stolen. Everything he'd built.
And he was handing me the keys.
"Are you sure?" I asked carefully. "This is... this is everything."
