For the next three days, Evan didn’t contact me.

I followed his warning.

I told no one about the card.

Instead, I called Rebecca Chen, the attorney who had handled the parts of my divorce Gabriel couldn’t manipulate.

“Rebecca, what exactly is still registered in my name from the original company?”

There was a long silence.

“Natalia… why are you asking?”

“Because my son told me Gabriel wants the original property key.”

Her voice changed immediately.

“Don’t sign anything.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“What is it?”

Rebecca explained that when Gabriel and I founded Shaw Technologies, our first intellectual property had been registered before the company officially existed.

The patents, original source-code rights, and several licensing agreements had later been assigned to the corporation.

Almost all of them.

One had not.

The original encryption architecture—the technology that later became the foundation of Shaw Technologies’ most profitable security division—still traced back to an entity registered under my name.

During the divorce, Gabriel had buried me beneath thousands of pages of financial documents.

But apparently, he hadn’t managed to obtain that final asset.

“How valuable is it?”

Rebecca hesitated.

“If someone proved the current company still depends on that original technology?”

“Yes.”

“Potentially more valuable than everything you received in the divorce.”

I finally understood.

The mansion.

The useless subsidiary.

The complicated assets.

Gabriel hadn’t been generous.

He had been distracting me.

That evening, Monica called.

I almost didn’t answer.

Then I remembered Evan’s words.

He went with Dad for a reason.

So I picked up.

“Natalia.”

Her voice was unusually sweet.

“Gabriel thinks there may have been a small paperwork mistake during the divorce.”

“What kind?”

“Nothing important. Just an old intellectual-property document.”

There it was.

I smiled.

“Then why does Gabriel need my signature?”

Silence.

Monica recovered quickly.

“Because technically your name appears on it.”

“Send it to my lawyer.”

Her tone hardened.

“Why make everything difficult?”

“I learned from Gabriel.”

I hung up.

Ten minutes later, my phone received another encrypted message.

Don’t sign. They’re moving tomorrow.

Evan.

I typed:

Moving what?

His answer arrived seconds later.

Money. Company assets. Dad thinks you don’t know yet.

Then another message:

And Mom, don’t hate me for what I said before I left.

My eyes burned.

I remembered his words.

Apart from cooking and worrying about useless things, what can you offer me?

I had replayed that sentence every night since he left.

I typed:

Why did you say it?

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Then:

Because Dad needed to believe I hated you.

I covered my mouth.

Another message arrived.

Monica was listening outside my room. I knew it.

Then:

I’m sorry.

That was the moment I finally cried.

Not because my son had betrayed me.

Because he hadn’t.

He was sixteen years old and had deliberately made his own mother believe he despised her so Gabriel would take him to England.

I called immediately.

Evan answered in a whisper.

“Mom?”

“Come home.”

“I can’t yet.”

“You’re sixteen. This isn’t your battle.”

“It became mine when Dad tried to take everything from you.”

“Evan—”

“Listen.”

His voice suddenly became urgent.

“I found where the fifty million came from.”

My heart stopped.

“You said it was yours.”

“It is.”

Then he explained.

Years earlier, my father had created a private trust for Evan.

Gabriel knew about the trust.

What he apparently didn’t know was that my father had appointed an independent overseas trustee and tied control to conditions Gabriel couldn’t override.

The fifty million wasn’t spending money.

Most of it was protected.

The five million available to me had been released under an emergency beneficiary provision.

“Grandpa knew Dad might do this someday,” Evan whispered.

I closed my eyes.

My father had died believing Gabriel was family.

Apparently, he had trusted him less than I realized.

Suddenly Evan went quiet.

A door opened somewhere near him.

Then Gabriel’s voice came through the phone.

“Evan?”

My son immediately disconnected.

I called back.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

For forty minutes, I couldn’t breathe normally.

Then Rebecca called.

“Natalia, we need to act now.”

“What happened?”

“Gabriel’s lawyers just submitted documents claiming you assigned the remaining intellectual-property rights during the divorce.”

“I never signed that.”

“I know.”

Her next sentence chilled me.

“The signature appears to be yours.”

A forged document.

Now everything made sense.

They hadn’t simply needed the original property key.

They needed whatever evidence could prove their paperwork was false.

I opened the old safe in my study.

Inside were company records Gabriel had considered worthless.

At the bottom sat a small metal security device.

I hadn’t touched it in twelve years.

The original authentication key.

I immediately called Rebecca.

“I found it.”

“Do not give it to anyone.”

Then my front-door camera sent an alert.

Someone was outside.

Monica.

She stood at my door carrying a folder.

I watched through the camera as she rang the bell.

Then my phone buzzed.

Natalia, open the door. Gabriel sent me. We need to solve this like adults.

Before I could respond, another message arrived.

From Evan.

Only six words.

Mom, don’t let Monica leave. Police.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

I found the original transfer records.

And finally:

She forged your signature, not Dad.

I slowly looked toward the front door.

Monica rang the bell again.

“Natalia!”

This time, she sounded nervous.

I didn’t open it.

I called Rebecca.

Then the authorities.

And through the camera, I watched Monica realize something had changed.

She stepped backward.

Looked toward the street.

Then started walking quickly toward her car.

But before she reached it, two vehicles pulled into the driveway.

Monica froze.

My phone rang at the same moment.

Gabriel.

I answered.

He wasn’t angry.

He sounded terrified.

“Natalia, where is Evan?”

My blood went cold.

“He’s with you.”

“No.”

Gabriel’s breathing was ragged.

“I just went into his room.”

Pause.

“He’s gone.”

I gripped the phone.

Then I heard another notification.

A photograph from Evan.

He was standing outside an unfamiliar building in London.

Behind him was a brass plaque bearing the same star symbol as the black bank card.

ASTRAL HERITAGE

Under the photograph, my son had written:

Mom, I found Grandpa’s real trust records.

Then one final message appeared.

And you’re not going to believe who the true owner of Shaw Technologies is.