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With Julian locked away without bail, Selene found herself in a position she had never experienced in her entire life: completely alone, broke, and exposed.

For eight years, Selene had lived off her brother’s ill-gotten wealth, occupying a luxury apartment downtown, driving a sports car paid for by corporate leases, and building a reputation as a high-society influencer. She had treated everyone around her with condescending cruelty, confident that Julian’s power would protect her forever.

Now, that protection was entirely gone.

Three days after the bail hearing, Selene walked into the lobby of her luxury apartment building carrying two shopping bags filled with cheap groceries. She was wearing plain sweatpants and sunglasses, desperately trying to avoid the stares of her neighbors.

As she reached the elevator, two men in dark suits stepped out from the lounge area, holding official badges.

"Selene Vance?" the lead man asked.

Selene flinched, pulling her sunglasses down. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I am Investigator Miller from the State Financial Crimes Division," the officer announced. "We have a warrant for your arrest regarding grand larceny, corporate tax fraud, and conspiracy to commit embezzlement."

Selene dropped her grocery bags, orange juice bottles shattering across the polished marble floor. "What?! That's impossible! I didn't do anything! It was my brother's company!"

"You were listed as the sole registered owner and managing director of Vance Beauty Studio LLC," Investigator Miller explained smoothly, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. "An entity that illegally received over three hundred and eighty thousand dollars in stolen corporate funds. You also signed fraudulent tax exemption forms under penalty of perjury."

"No! You don't understand! Clara is doing this! She's framing us!" Selene shrieked, backing away toward the front doors.

The second officer stepped up behind her, swiftly pinning her arms behind her back.

Clink.

The cold metallic snap of handcuffs locked around her wrists.

"Get your hands off me!" Selene screamed, thrashing wildly as the luxury building's doorman and several wealthy residents watched in stunned silence, snapping photos on their phones. "Do you know who I am?! I am Selene Vance!"

"Not anymore, ma'am," the officer replied flatly, guiding her out the glass doors into a waiting police cruiser.

By that afternoon, news of Selene’s arrest had gone viral across local social media platforms. The high-society friends who had once competed for her attention immediately scrubbed her from their guest lists and unfollowed her accounts. The beauty studio she had boasted about opening was seized by federal receivers to be liquidated at public auction.

Sitting in my office downtown, I reviewed the seizure reports provided by Helena Marsh.

"Her bail was set at fifty thousand dollars," Helena reported, taking a sip of her coffee. "She called three of her wealthiest socialite friends from the holding facility to ask for help. Every single one of them hung up on her."

I looked out the window at the city. "And her luxury apartment?"

"Evicted this morning," Helena smiled. "The property management company repossessed the keys under the receivership order. Everything she owned—her designer bags, her jewelry, her cars—is being auctioned off to pay back the funds stolen from your father's firm."

I closed the file folder, feeling a profound sense of peace.

Selene had laughed when boiling coffee was thrown into my face. She had stood in my kitchen and told her brother to make me suffer until I surrendered my inheritance. Now, she was sitting in a cold holding cell, facing years in prison, stripped of every luxury she had used to humiliate others.