Chapter 318: [4.136] How to Call a Spade a Spade

The shower in the guest bathroom was nicer than my entire apartment. Multiple showerheads. Marble tile. Water pressure that could probably strip paint off a car. I stood under the spray and let the heat work through muscles that had spent the night serving as a pillow for four girls who apparently viewed personal space as a suggestion rather than a rule.

My phone sat on the counter, screen lighting up every thirty seconds with messages I was ignoring.

Felix wanted to know if I needed backup. Vivienne had sent a revised timeline for the day. Harlow had texted a string of heart emojis followed by a picture of waffles. Cassidy had sent a single skull emoji, which I interpreted as either encouragement or a death threat.

Sabrina hadn’t texted at all. She didn’t need to. Everything she wanted to say had been in that kiss.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, catching my reflection in the fogged mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. Two-toned hair plastered to my forehead. A constellation of marks on my neck and collarbone that I was going to have a hell of a time explaining if anyone at the Velvet Room saw them.

Worth it.

The suit Vivienne had arranged hung in the closet, pressed and perfect. Black wool, white shirt, silk tie in a deep burgundy that matched the Valentine brand colors. Probably intentional on her part. Everything Vivienne did was intentional.

I got dressed. Tied my tie in the mirror. Pushed my hair back from my face in something approaching respectability.

The man staring back at me looked like he belonged in boardrooms and business meetings. Like he’d grown up with money and power instead of cockroaches and overdue rent notices.

Funny how a good suit could lie.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was a number I didn’t recognize.

Unknown: Mr. Angelo. This is Miranda Chen, Mrs. Valentine’s personal assistant. A car will arrive at the manor at 2:15 PM to transport you to the meeting. Please be ready.

I stared at the message for a long moment.

Then I typed back: I have my own transportation. Thank you.

The response came in seconds: Mrs. Valentine insists.

I smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

Tell Mrs. Valentine I’ll see her at three.

I pocketed the phone and headed downstairs.

The manor smelled like coffee and something sweet. Harlow’s doing, probably. That girl could bake under any circumstances, including the night before confronting a mother who’d spent years manipulating her daughters into competing for an inheritance that should have been theirs all along.

I found them in the kitchen. All four of them, arranged around the island like a war council in designer clothing.

Vivienne had changed into a navy blue power suit that probably cost more than my car. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, her makeup flawless, her tablet already open to what looked like a presentation. She glanced up when I entered and gave me a single approving nod at my appearance.

Harlow wore a soft pink blouse and a skirt that hit just above her knees. She’d toned down the accessories, but she still had tiny heart clips in her twin tails, still radiated warmth like a small sun. She was arranging pastries on a plate, her movements quick and nervous.

Cassidy had somehow found leather pants. Leather pants and a cropped black sweater that showed a strip of toned stomach every time she moved. Her wine-red hair with its black streaks was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, looking like she was ready to fight God.

And Sabrina.

Sabrina wore black. A fitted dress that hugged every curve, modest in its neckline but devastating in the way it moved when she walked. Her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her purple eyes tracked me as I entered the room with the intensity of a predator watching prey.

"You clean up nice," Cassidy said.

"I try."

"Try harder. You’ve still got that hickey on your neck."

I reached up instinctively, and she smirked.

"Made you look."

"Children," Vivienne said without looking up from her tablet. "Focus. We have approximately five hours before the meeting, and we need to retrieve the original will from the bank before then."

Harlow slid a cup of coffee across the counter toward me. Black, no sugar. She’d remembered from yesterday. The small gesture shouldn’t have meant anything, but it did. I wrapped my hands around the ceramic, letting the heat seep into my palms.

"I called ahead," she said, her voice bright despite the early hour. "The bank manager is expecting us at nine-thirty. Sabrina has the key."

All eyes turned to Sabrina.

She reached up slowly, her fingers disappearing into the neckline of her dress. When she withdrew them, a small bronze key dangled from a delicate chain. The metal glinted in the morning light. She’d been wearing it against her skin this whole time, hidden beneath the fabric. The key rested in her palm, warmed from where it had pressed between her breasts.

I looked at the key. Just the key. That was what I told myself.

"My father gave me this three days before he died." Sabrina’s voice was quiet, but it carried through the kitchen like a whisper in a cathedral. "He told me to guard it with my life. He said one day I would need it to protect my sisters. That the key would open something Mother could never be allowed to find."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with the weight of what Richard Valentine had known. What he’d prepared for. What he’d feared enough to create contingencies from his deathbed.

Cassidy’s jaw tightened. Harlow’s eyes went bright with unshed tears. Even Vivienne paused in her tablet-scrolling, her composure cracking for just a moment.

"He knew," Vivienne said finally. "He knew what Mother would do."

"He knew everything." Sabrina’s hand closed around the key. "He just couldn’t stop it. So he prepared us instead."

I thought about my own father. The man who’d taught me to throw a punch and then used that same hand to wave goodbye when he walked out the door. The man who’d started a new family in Florida and never looked back.

Richard Valentine had spent his dying days building an arsenal to protect his daughters from the woman he’d married. He’d hidden documents and forged keys and written letters filled with love and instructions.

My father had left a two-line text explaining he’d met someone new.

Different kinds of absence. Same kind of hole.

"Let’s go get it then," I said. "The will. Whatever else is in that box. We get it, we verify it, and then we walk into that meeting with enough firepower to burn your mother’s entire operation to the ground."

Cassidy grinned. It was sharp and hungry and promised violence. "I like the way you think, Angelo."

"Someone has to."

"Was that an insult?"

"Observation."

She flipped me off. I caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before she could pull away. Her face went red, which was exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.

"Children," Vivienne repeated, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth now.

We piled into Sabrina’s Range Rover because it had the most room, and because Cassidy’s Supra only seated two and Vivienne refused to arrive at the bank in anything that looked even slightly "common." Sabrina drove with the same quiet intensity she brought to everything else. Harlow sat in the passenger seat, chattering nervously about the weather, the traffic, the lovely architecture of the buildings we passed. Cassidy sprawled in the back next to me, her thigh pressed against mine, her hand finding my knee like it belonged there.

Vivienne sat on my other side, reviewing documents on her tablet, occasionally making notes in margins with a stylus.

"The original will names all four of you as equal inheritors," she said without looking up. "No competition. No evaluation period. No single daughter receiving majority control. Father’s handwritten note explicitly states that his daughters are not horses to be raced against each other."

"Mother’s version creates artificial scarcity," Sabrina added from the driver’s seat. "Makes us fight for something that should have been ours equally. Keeps us too busy competing to notice what she’s doing with the company."

"What is she doing with the company?" I asked.

Vivienne’s stylus paused. "We’re not entirely certain. The documents Father collected suggest financial irregularities. Diverted funds. Board decisions that contradict official minutes. But we haven’t had time to fully analyze everything."

"One problem at a time," Cassidy said. "First we prove the will is fake. Then we deal with whatever other crimes Mother’s been committing."

"Alleged crimes," Vivienne corrected.

"Please. You’ve read those files. She’s guilty as hell."

"I prefer not to make accusations without proper documentation."

"And I prefer to call a spade a spade. Mother’s a criminal. Has been for years. Today we finally prove it."