By 4:00 a.m., my phone started blowing up. First were the missed calls from Victor. Then from Olivia. Then from Victor’s mother, who probably just woke up to a frantic message from her precious son.
I didn’t answer any of them.
Instead, I made myself a fresh cup of coffee and sat by the window, watching the snow fall thicker now. Our beautiful suburban house in Boston looked like a Christmas card. A house I had paid for with my own family money — the one Victor always liked to forget.
At 5:30 a.m., my lawyer called.
“Claire, everything is done. The FBI will pick him up at the airport. The accounts he tried to drain are frozen. Olivia’s brother’s shell company has already been flagged for fraud.”
I took a slow sip of coffee.
“Thank you, Richard. Make sure they get the full folder I sent you.”
