My hands tremble on the mahogany desk, not from fear—from rage. The audit report stares back like an accusation: $47 million siphoned in three months. All traced to Lillian’s offshore shell accounts. I funded her trust fund, her luxury car, her failed fashion line… and this is how she repays me?

But then Elena walks in, holding a USB drive like it’s a live grenade. 'Mom,' she says—she hasn’t called me that in years—'I know what Lillian did. But there’s something you need to see first.' Her voice is steady, unlike mine. On the screen, a video plays: Lillian laughing as she signs forged documents. Then, a second clip—me, years ago, refusing Elena’s college tuition request while approving Lillian’s ski trip to Switzerland.

The shame burns worse than the betrayal. Elena doesn’t gloat. She just waits.

'I can fix this,' she says. 'But only if you let me.'

Do I hand over control to the daughter I never wanted? Or do I call the police and lose everything?