878 "He Made Me Sit in the Back Row and Brought His Mistress to Our Daughter’s Wedding—Then the Groom's Billionaire Father Walked Past Him, Looked Right at Me, and Said: 'I’ve Finally Found You!'"

The heavy metal door of the observation room swung wide open, the sharp screech of its hinges cutting through the stagnant air of the precinct hallway.

Corinne spun around so fast her red dress whipped around her legs. Her triumphant smile froze instantly on her face, turning into a mask of pure, unadulterated shock as she looked through the glass window and saw me standing there, flanked by Charles Sterling and two corporate attorneys.

Tristan dropped his head into his hands, groaning weakly upon realizing he had just performed for an audience he never expected.

"Laura..." Corinne choked out, her voice pitching upward in disbelief. She clutched the signed quitclaim deed to her chest like a shield. "What... what are you doing here?"

I didn't answer right away. I stepped slowly through the doorway, my boots clicking rhythmically against the scuffed linoleum floor. I stopped three feet from her, looking down at the manicured hands clutching the paper that was supposed to ruin me.

"Enjoying the view, Corinne," I said, my voice smooth, calm, and utterly freezing.

Corinne swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, smoothing down her dress with a shaky hand. "You're too late, Laura. Tristan just signed over full legal rights to the Elmwood estate and the remaining corporate holdings to Sterling-Blake Holdings. Legally, this house and everything in it belongs to me now."

"Does it?" I raised an eyebrow, reaching into my handbag and pulling out the heavy, gold-embossed legal envelope delivered by the courier just an hour ago.

I slid the contingency deed out, letting the crisp pages slide across the metal interrogation table right in front of her eyes.

Corinne’s eyes darted down to the text. She scanned the first paragraph, her face draining of color. She read the second paragraph, her lips parting in silent horror. By the third paragraph, her hands began to shake so violently the papers rattled against the steel table.

"N-No..." Corinne whispered, backing away until her spine hit the concrete wall. "This... this is impossible. This clause... it invalidates the transfer if the primary owner didn't consent..."

"Which I didn't," I said, stepping closer, my gaze locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. "The moment Tristan tried to mortgage my father's trust property without my notarized presence, the entire deed reverted directly back to my individual estate. The collateral was voided before the ink on your shell company's paperwork even dried."

Corinne stared at the document like it was a venomous snake. "That means... that means I don't own the house..."

"No," I smiled coldly. "You don't own the house. But congratulations, Corinne. Because you just used a fraudulent shell company to execute a binding corporate asset transfer under false pretenses, you've officially attached your name as primary managing director to every single federal felony charge currently being leveled against Bennett Enterprises."

Corinne’s breath caught in her throat. She whipped around to look at Tristan, her eyes blazing with murderous fury. "You lied to me! You said the property was clean!"

"I didn't know!" Tristan sobbed from his chair, burying his face in his arms. "She never told me about the trust! She managed all the paperwork!"

Before Corinne could lunge across the table at Tristan, the door behind us pushed open again. Two federal agents—the ones handling the corporate fraud investigation—walked into the room, their badges gleaming sharply under the harsh lights.

The lead agent stepped forward, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt.

"Ms. Corinne Blake?" the agent asked formally.

Corinne stood frozen, her chest heaving, trapped like a rat in a corner.

"You have the right to remain silent," the agent continued, grabbing her wrist and snapping the first cuff into place with a sharp, metallic click.

As Corinne was hauled backward, screaming obscenities and thrashing against the federal agents, she locked eyes with me one last time, her face twisted in a mask of pure, venomous hatred.