The heavy mahogany doors of the grand ballroom met with a dull, echoing thud that reverberated through the chests of every single guest present.

Within seventy-two hours, the once-untouchable DuPont family had vanished from the high-society registries.

The social pages of the city’s major newspapers, which had spent the last month gushing over the upcoming 'Wedding of the Century' between Daniel DuPont and Chloe Whitmore, suddenly pivoted to deep-dive investigative reports into the family's decades-long history of corporate fraud, tax evasion, and political bribery.

It turned out that when Vanguard Global called in its loans, federal regulatory agencies—who had been quietly building a RICO case against Arthur Sterling’s competitors for years—finally had the clearance they needed to raid the DuPont corporate headquarters.

By Thursday afternoon, federal agents had seized computers, financial ledgers, and safe deposit boxes from the DuPont family estate. Eleanor and her husband were placed under house arrest pending federal indictment trials, while Chloe had reportedly packed her remaining designer shoes into plastic garbage bags and moved into a rundown motel on the outskirts of the city.

And Daniel?

Daniel tried to come to the Sterling estate.

It was raining heavily on Friday afternoon when the estate security gates buzzed through to the main house. Marcus appeared on my tablet screen in the sunroom, looking unimpressed.

“Miss Sterling, we have an uninvited visitor at the main security checkpoint,” Marcus said, turning the camera feed toward the gates.

On the screen, soaked to the skin in an expensive suit that was now ruined by the pouring rain, stood Daniel. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his face was gaunt with dark circles under his eyes, and he was desperately shouting something at the security intercom.

“Put the audio on,” I instructed quietly.

Marcus tapped a button. Daniel’s desperate voice crackled through the speakers.

“Vivienne! Please! I know you can hear me! Just let me talk to you for five minutes! My mother is having a panic attack, we have nowhere to go, all our cards are blocked! Please, Vivienne! We have a baby coming! Have some mercy!”

I watched him on the screen.

Three years ago, seeing him like that would have broken my heart. I would have run out into the rain with my credit card, desperate to fix his problems, apologize for existing, and make everything comfortable for him.

Now?

I felt nothing. Not anger. Not pity. Just the quiet, absolute chill of emotional detachment.

“Marcus,” I said evenly.

“Yes, Miss Sterling?”

“Call the local precinct. Tell them there is a trespassing vagrant harassing residents at our private gate.”