VICTORIA POV
Month Forty-Nine. Day Three After.
I checked into a motel two towns over.
Cash. No name. The kind of place that didn't ask questions because its entire business model depended on not asking questions.
Room seven. Single bed. A window that looked out at a parking lot and a gas station and a sky that couldn't decide between gray and white.
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my laptop.
The accounts were all still there.
I'd checked twice a day since Sunday. Couldn't help it. Some part of me is waiting for the moment Brighton found a way to reverse it, to claw something back, to make one final move.
He hadn't.
He couldn't. It was done.
Cayman Islands. Switzerland. Singapore. Montana. Costa Rica. Portugal.
All of it sitting quietly under Victoria Brighton's name, waiting.
I stared at the numbers for a long time.
