As I open the paperwork, laying it out on the table, Monti points to the top one.

“This is his will, he left everything to us. He had moved the money into trusts months before... you know. And this” —she pulls a pink envelope from the center slapping it on top— “this is the deed to the house.”

My eyes snap up to hers and a sad smile pulls at her lips. “It’s in our names, J. That’s why mom couldn’t sell, that’s why it’s been sitting here, waiting for us. It’s ours.”

It’s ours...

“I called one of Dad’s lawyers on this paper, just to see if it was legit, and he said Mom never tried to take any of it. She told him that we’d come to claim what was ours when we were older.” She frowns. “She never told us about it because she knew with all he’s given us, we could walk away from what she was asking us to do, not needing her. And we don’t need her, J. Not to help us get a start in life anyway.”

I spin, my mind running as I process everything she’s telling me, the paperwork in front of me.

More bombs and hidden secrets.

My mom needed us to do what she asked, to carry on her name and so the events of today could be avoided, but she never cared for us to need her.

She would never cut us off. She cared about image too much for that. Sure, she stopped ‘dealing’ with Monti after Monti refused to be a pawn, never cared to call her personally unless it was in search of me, but her cards were never deactivated, and the bills kept getting paid.

No, this is deeper, a safety net set in place decades ago.

She knew where her career was headed.

A low laugh escapes as it hits me and I fall into the chair. Dropping my head back, I stare at the ceiling.

“She did all this because she needed a leg up. It’s how she’ll blindside everyone the minute they think they’ve got her, and she will wait until that very last second, let them nearly celebrate, and then, bam. Knock them on their ass.” It’s her specialty.

My god, Mother, you’re an evil fucking genius.

I tap my fingers against the wooden tabletop, my eyes popping up to Ransom, to Beretta and Arsen, but they settle on my sister.

“What is it?” Monti lowers into the chair beside me.

“She handed me every single piece of evidence against her. Contracts and photographers, tapes that must have been recorded conversations and journal logs, USB drives, and computer chips. Everything you can imagine.”

“Why would she do that?”

One reason is because she found a hint of compassion and shed it on me, but even that she could only risk for one reason.