Eric had arrived before dawn with the papers, and the moving company had worked through the early morning hours collecting Margaret's belongings from the Carter house. Brandon had supervised the delivery himself, making sure everything was handled carefully.
Now, as morning light filtered through the mansion's windows, Brandon prepared breakfast—French toast, fresh fruit, and coffee the way Margaret liked it. He arranged everything on a tray and headed to the guest suite.
He knocked softly. "Margaret? I brought you breakfast."
"Come in."
Brandon entered to find Margaret sitting up in bed, looking more rested than he'd seen her in years. The haunted expression she usually wore had softened, at least temporarily.
He placed the tray on her lap. "Hope you're hungry."
"Brandon, you didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to." He settled into the chair by the window. "How are you feeling?"
"Well rested. Best I've slept in years, honestly." Margaret took a sip of coffee. "No one waking me up angry about something, no walking on eggshells wondering what mood he'll be in."
"I'm glad you're safe here."
"I wanted to let you know—your things were delivered this morning. They're in the storage room downstairs. If you need help arranging anything, just ask. The staff will be here shortly."
Margaret looked at him with uncertainty. "Does that mean I'm staying? Here, I mean?"
"You can stay as long as you want. I had plans to get you your own place—I still do, eventually—but for now I think it's best you stay here. I don't know what Richard might do if he finds out where you are."
Margaret nodded, understanding the unspoken concern. Richard's threats weren't empty—Brandon had seen the escalating violence himself.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "You've done so much for me already. You didn't have to, and yet you did. You've done more for me than my own family ever has."
"I'm glad I can help." Brandon paused, knowing he needed to address the difficult topic. "Margaret, I know this isn't easy, but we should talk about divorce proceedings. I have lawyers who can—"
Margaret looked down at her coffee, and Brandon immediately understood what that meant.
She wasn't ready.
He got it—leaving was one thing, but officially ending a twenty-four-year marriage was another level of finality. Even if that marriage had been toxic and abusive, decades of psychological conditioning didn't disappear overnight.
"You don't need to make any decisions right away," Brandon said gently. "Take your time. Focus on healing. The legal stuff can wait until you're ready."
Margaret looked up at him with grateful tears in her eyes.
Brandon glanced at his watch. "I have to get to work, but the staff will be here shortly. I've instructed them to help you with whatever you need. There's food in the kitchen, and if you're bored, there's TV in the living room. Since you love books, I should mention there's a library downstairs—about ten thousand volumes, though I'll admit I haven't read most of them yet."
He pulled out a credit card and handed it to Margaret. "And if you need to buy anything—clothes, personal items, whatever—use this. There's ten million on it. I can top it up later if needed."
Margaret's eyes widened in shock. "Brandon, I can't possibly—"
"Yes, you can. Margaret, that amount of money makes no difference to me. Seriously. I spend more than that on office supplies every month." He smiled. "Please, use it for whatever you need. Consider it payment for all those Sunday dinners you made when I was married to Victoria."
Margaret tried to refuse again, but Brandon was already heading toward the door. "I'll check on you this evening. Call me if you need anything."
---
Brandon didn't head straight to the office. Instead, he drove to the industrial complex on the east side of the city where his security company was headquartered.
The building was deliberately unremarkable from the outside—just another warehouse in a district full of them. But inside, it housed one of the most sophisticated private security operations in the world.
Jared Mitchell was reviewing surveillance footage when Brandon entered his office. The man was in his early fifties, with the bearing of someone who'd spent decades in dangerous situations and learned to stay alert even in moments of calm.
Brandon had discovered Jared two years ago when corporate espionage against his companies had reached critical levels. Governments, rival corporations, criminal organizations—everyone wanted access to his technology.
He'd needed security, but nothing on the market had suited his requirements. Then he'd seen a news story about a private investigator who'd stumbled onto massive government corruption while investigating a simple adultery case.
Jared had been former military, hired by a woman to follow her husband. His investigation had led him to discover a network of corruption involving powerful government officials. He'd known that revealing it would put a target on his back, but he'd pushed forward anyway, exposing everything.
The government had given him a medal and some empty praise, then promptly forgotten about him. No protection, no follow-up, nothing. But the people he'd exposed hadn't forgotten.
Brandon had reached out and offered Jared something better than a medal—resources, support, and the chance to build something meaningful. Not just as a PI, but as the architect of a comprehensive security operation.
Neither of them could have imagined how large it would become. Now they employed over five thousand security personnel globally, with clients ranging from Fortune 500 companies to foreign governments.
"Brandon," Jared stood as he entered. "What brings you here? Please don't tell me there's been another breach."
"Nothing like that. I need a favor—personal, not business."
Jared's expression shifted to full attention. "What do you need?"
"I have a friend staying at my house. She just left an abusive situation, and her ex-husband might try to cause trouble. I need your best people watching the property. Round-the-clock surveillance, rapid response capability if he shows up."
Jared was already making notes. "How dangerous is this ex-husband?"
"Angry, vindictive, and losing control of his life. He's made death threats. I don't think he'll actually do anything, but I'm not willing to risk it."
"I'll send a full team—four operatives rotating shifts, plus mobile units positioned nearby. If this guy even drives past your property, we'll know about it."
"Perfect. Bill it to my personal account, not the corporate one."
Jared waved that off. "Consider it a favor. You gave me a second chance when I was being blacklisted for doing the right thing. This is the least I can do."
After finalizing the security arrangements, Brandon finally headed toward the office. His phone showed dozens of messages and meeting requests, but for once, work felt secondary.
Margaret was safe. She had protection, resources, and time to figure out her next steps without fear of violence. Brandon had used his wealth and power to help someone who genuinely needed it—not for business advantage or strategic positioning, but simply because it was the right thing to do.
As he drove through the city he'd helped transform, Brandon felt something he hadn't experienced in a long time: the satisfaction of using his success to make a real difference in someone's life.
The empire he'd built had been about proving himself, about escaping exploitation, about showing everyone who'd dismissed him exactly how wrong they'd been.
But maybe it was also about having the power to protect people who couldn't protect themselves. People like Margaret, who deserved better than what life had given them.
Brandon smiled slightly as he pulled into the parking garage at headquarters. Richard Carter had spent years trying to destroy him and had lost everything in the process.
Now Brandon was protecting Richard's ex-wife in his own home, using resources Richard couldn't match to give her a life Richard had refused to provide.
Sometimes the best revenge wasn't destruction—it was demonstrating through your actions why you deserved to win in the first place.