The chandeliers in the St. Jude Ballroom shimmered with an intensity that felt almost blinding. It was the "Wedding of the Year"—a meticulously curated fusion of old-world prestige and modern, high-tech glamour. Two hundred guests sat in rapt silence, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight, waiting for the final toasts.

Julian returned to the cramped Queens apartment Claire rented. It was barely big enough for two people, let alone three, but it was warm.

"We need a lawyer," Julian said, pacing the small living room. "Someone who hates my mother as much as we do."

Claire, who was cooking macaroni for Toby, paused. "There is someone. Three years ago, when Beatrice forced me out, a young associate at her firm tried to help me. He found irregularities in her paperwork. Beatrice fired him and blacklisted him from corporate law."

"What’s his name?" Julian asked.

An hour later, they were sitting in a dingy, basement office in Brooklyn. The nameplate on the door read: Marcus Thorne, Attorney at Law.

Marcus was in his thirties, wearing a rumpled suit and drinking cheap whiskey from a paper cup. He looked at Julian with deep suspicion.

"The prodigal son," Marcus sneered. "Why should I help you? Your family ruined my career."

"Because my mother ruined my life, too," Julian said, placing Victoria's silver smartphone on the desk. "I have a recording of Beatrice admitting to conspiracy. But it's not enough to break the trust. I need the paper trail of how she forged Claire's bank statements."

Marcus stared at the phone. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Beatrice keeps her dirty files off the digital grid. She has a physical ledger in a biometric safe inside her private office at Vanguard Enterprises. If you can get that ledger, I can put her in federal prison for the rest of her natural life."