Grafton stormed into Arthur Sterling's office at Huff Enterprises. He kicked the door shut.

"Freeze it all!" he roared. "The trust. The checking accounts. I want her card to decline when she tries to buy a pack of gum. I want her starving."

Arthur looked pale. He was sweating through his dress shirt. He tapped a key on his keyboard and turned the monitor toward Grafton.

"Sir... there's a problem."

Grafton looked at the screen. It was a transaction history for the Wiley Legacy Trust.

"It's empty?" Grafton asked, hopeful.

"No," Arthur said. "It's full. She hasn't touched the principal in ten years. The only withdrawals were for approved charitable donations and medical research grants."

Grafton stared. He had spent years calling her a leech. He had convinced himself she stuck around for the prestige and the access.

"Dig deeper," Grafton commanded. "Where is she getting money?"

Arthur clicked a folder labeled External Assets.

"I ran a forensic audit when she demanded the IP rights," Arthur said. "Her name is attached to four offshore holding companies. They own the co-development rights to our three best-selling neurology drugs."

Grafton felt the room spin. "That's impossible. Those are Huff patents."

"The corporate charter," Arthur whispered. "Clause 14B, from your grandfather. 'Intellectual contributions to family business shall remain the property of the creator.' You signed off on it during the last shareholder meeting, assuming it only applied to her watercolor paintings."

Grafton remembered. He remembered laughing as he signed it, thinking he was protecting his grandfather's legacy from a hobbyist.

The fax machine in the corner whirred. A single sheet of paper slid out.

Arthur picked it up. His hands shook.

"It's a Cease and Desist," Arthur said. "From Elias Thorne. Her lawyer. She's demanding retroactive royalties. Fifty million dollars. Or she pulls the licenses."

Grafton grabbed the paper. The number was staggering.

"If she pulls the licenses, the stock tanks," Arthur said. "We lose the FDA approval."

Grafton crumpled the paper. He felt trapped. For the first time in his life, he wasn't the one holding the leash.

His phone rang. It was Ainsley.

"Uncle Grafton!" she wailed. "People are posting mean comments on my Instagram because of the gala photos. I lost ten thousand followers! Do something!"

Grafton squeezed the phone. His niece's voice grated on his nerves like a drill.

"Not now, Ainsley," he snapped.

"But Uncle-"

He hung up. He looked out the window at the skyline he thought he owned.

Somewhere out there, Katharina was watching.

He felt a sharp pain in his side. He reached for the bottle of vitamins Harlow had given him. He popped two. They tasted like chalk.

In a small office in Queens, Katharina sat across from Elias. She was looking at a hard drive.

"The audit scared them," Elias said. "But they won't pay. They'll fight."

"I know," Katharina said. "That's why I need the leverage."

"What leverage?"

"The Hamptons house," she said. "There's a safe in the wine cellar. Grafton thinks I don't know the combination."

"It's risky," Elias warned.

Katharina stood up. "He's letting his nephew wait for bone marrow because he doesn't want to lose a patent. I'm done being careful."

The Hamptons estate was a fortress of white shingles and manicured hedges. Katharina parked her rental Jeep in the dense woods bordering the property.

She wore black cargo pants and a dark windbreaker. She slipped through a gap in the fence where the ivy had overgrown the sensors. She knew about it because she used to prune that ivy herself.

Loud pop music thumped from the backyard.

She crept through the rhododendrons until she had a view of the Great Lawn.

A massive white tent was set up. Photography equipment was everywhere.

Grafton, Ainsley, and Harlow were posing on a vintage picnic blanket. A photographer was shouting directions.

"Big smiles! Show us the love! The new era of Huff!"

Ainsley was wearing a white lace sundress. Katharina stopped breathing. She had designed that dress. She had sewn the lace by hand for Ainsley's sweet sixteen.

Harlow was sitting next to Grafton, her hand on his chest. Around her neck hung the emerald pendant.

Katharina felt a physical blow to her gut. It wasn't jealousy. It was violation. They were wearing her life like a costume.

She forced her eyes away. Focus.

She slipped to the side of the main house. The cellar doors were locked, but the keypad was old. She punched in the code: 0-8-2-4. Leo's birthday. Grafton never changed codes; he was too arrogant to think anyone would guess.

The door clicked. She slipped into the cool, damp darkness.

The wine cellar smelled of oak and dust. She went to the back wall, behind the racks of vintage Bordeaux. She felt for the loose brick and pushed.

The panel slid open. A small wall safe was revealed.

She typed the code again. 0-8-2-4.

The safe beeped and swung open.

Inside lay a titanium hard drive and a leather-bound journal.

She grabbed them. Her hands were shaking. This was it. The proof of the money laundering. The proof of the illegal clinical trials.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs above.

"I need more champagne!" Ainsley's voice echoed down the stairwell.

"I'll help you pick," Harlow said.

Katharina dove behind a stack of oversized wine barrels. She curled into a ball, clutching the hard drive to her chest.

Ainsley and Harlow walked into the cellar. The light from the hallway cut across the floor.

"Ugh, it smells like mold down here," Ainsley complained.

"Grab the Dom Perignon," Harlow said. "We need to celebrate. The cover is going to be iconic."

"Did you see Uncle Grafton's face when the photographer asked about Katharina?" Ainsley laughed. "He looked like he ate a lemon."

"She's history, babe," Harlow said. "Once the magazine comes out, no one will even remember her name. She was just... a placeholder."

"A background character," Ainsley agreed.

Katharina bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. Background character.

They grabbed two bottles and left, their laughter fading up the stairs.

Katharina waited a full minute. Then she stood up.

She walked to the exit, but stopped in the hallway. On the wall, where her portrait used to hang-an oil painting she had sat for at her university graduation-there was now a large, abstract photo of Harlow's eye.

They had erased her. Physically, socially, historically.

Katharina felt a cold calm settle over her. The sadness evaporated.

She walked out the side door. Through the window, she saw Grafton standing in the kitchen, pouring water. He looked up. Their eyes met through the glass for a split second.

He dropped the glass. It shattered.

Katharina didn't stop. She ran to the woods, jumped in the Jeep, and floored it.

She dialed Elias.

"I have the drive," she said. "Execute Plan B. Short the stock."