His mother stared at me.
“You knew?”
I didn’t answer.
Gideon reached across the table and snatched the folder from her hands.
“What is this?”
His mother grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He pulled away.
“Mom, what did she put in here?”
I watched him open the next page.
His expression changed.
Then he turned another page.
And another.
The room had become so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
Finally, Gideon looked at me.
“This isn’t real.”
“It is.”
“You forged these.”
“No.”
He looked at his mother.
She was still staring at the first page.
“Mom?”
She whispered, “Where did you get this?”
I folded my hands on the table.
“From your family’s archive.”
Her eyes widened.
“You went into Father’s records?”
“No.”
I looked at Gideon.
“Your son brought them to me.”
He froze.
“What?”
I slid another sheet from the folder.
It was a notarized copy of an old trust agreement.
My grandfather’s name was on it.
So was his mother’s.
And at the bottom was a clause Gideon had never bothered to read.
His mother had.
She knew exactly what it meant.
The house wasn’t mine because my grandfather had simply left it to me.
It was mine because he had deliberately protected it from anyone who married into the family.
Including Gideon.
Including his mother.
And especially anyone who tried to force me out of it.
Gideon laughed nervously.
“So you’re telling me this changes nothing.”
“It changes everything.”
He looked at the settlement papers he’d just taken from me.
“You signed those.”
“I did.”
“You transferred the house.”
“No.”
He looked confused.
I pointed to the blue folder.
“Read page six.”
He did.
His face drained.
The divorce agreement he’d forced me to sign transferred his claims to the property.
But he had never owned the property.
And because the house had been placed in a protected family trust before our marriage, his signature on the settlement didn’t give him a single square inch of it.
His mother knew.
She’d known from the beginning.
Gideon turned toward her.
“You knew about this?”
She couldn’t answer.
“You knew?”
Finally, she whispered:
“Your grandfather told me.”
The room erupted.
One of his colleagues stood up.
“Wait. What exactly did he tell you?”
She looked at me.
“He told me that if Delphine was ever pressured into giving up the house, the trust would be activated.”
Gideon’s face hardened.
“You’re lying.”
I shook my head.
“No. She’s finally telling the truth.”
I opened the folder to the last section.
“This is the part you should be worried about.”
There were bank statements.
Transfers.
Emails.
Invoices.
Payments made from an account connected to Gideon’s company.
Payments made to my sister.
His arm slowly dropped from around her waist.
She took one step backward.
“Delphine…”
I looked at her.
“You don’t get to say my name like we’re still sisters.”
She started crying.
Gideon looked at the documents.
“What are those?”
“Your company expenses.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“It does when the money came from the account you told me didn’t exist.”
His mother stood up so quickly her chair fell backward.
“Stop.”
Everyone looked at her.
She pointed at me.
“What exactly are you accusing my son of?”
“Nothing.”
I pushed one final document across the table.
“I’m not accusing him.”
I looked at the woman who had spent the entire evening humiliating me.
“I’m documenting him.”
She picked up the paper.
Her eyes moved across the page.
Then she stopped.
Her lips parted.
“No.”
Gideon grabbed it.
“What?”
He read it.
And this time, he didn’t argue.
Because the signature at the bottom was his.
It was a loan application.
Taken against company assets.
Using forged financial information.
And the money hadn’t gone toward the company.
It had gone toward a luxury apartment.
The same apartment where my sister had been living for the past eight months.
I looked at my sister.
She covered her mouth.
Gideon turned toward her.
“You told me that money was yours.”
She started shaking her head.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know?”
“I thought—”
His mother suddenly slapped the table.
“Enough!”
Everyone went silent.
She looked at me.
“What do you want?”
I picked up my glass.
“Nothing.”
Her expression changed.
“Then why did you do this?”
I smiled.
“Because your son wanted a divorce.”
I looked at the signed papers.
“So I gave him one.”
Then I pulled out my phone.
“And because he wanted fourteen witnesses…”
I placed it on the table.
“…I made sure there were fourteen witnesses to everything that happened after he signed.”
Gideon stared at me.
“What did you record?”
I looked toward the door.
At that exact moment, someone knocked.
Twice.
His mother went completely still.
Because she recognized the voice on the other side.
“Delphine?”
I stood.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
And the attorney who had drafted my grandfather’s original trust walked into the dining room.
He looked directly at Gideon.
Then at his mother.
Then at the divorce papers.
And finally said:
“I believe we have a problem.”