Before we reached the altar, my three-year-old grandson squeezed my hand and whispered, “Grandpa, she was mean to Mommy.” Then he pointed toward my future wife and pulled a USB drive from his tiny pocket—one that would soon reveal the truth she had been hiding.

The USB contained one folder.

MONICA.

Nothing else.

I clicked.

Inside were dozens of files.

Screenshots.

Photographs.

Bank statements.

Scans.

Voice recordings.

Three videos.

I opened the newest video first.

Sofia appeared on the screen.

The camera angle was shaky.

She was filming from the hallway inside my house.

Monica’s voice came from the kitchen.

“I warned you to stop interfering.”

Sofia answered.

“My father has the right to know what you’re doing.”

Then came a sharp impact.

Something hit a table.

Sofia cried out.

My hands went cold.

Monica’s voice remained calm.

“By the time your father understands what’s happening, the house, the accounts, and everything he built will already be under my control.”

I froze.

Then someone pounded on the hotel door.

“Victor.”

Monica.

“Open the door.”

Lucas covered his ears.

PART 7