Emily looked down at her hands. The bruise on her cheek still throbbed faintly, a physical reminder of the stage setting at the gala. They had stripped her of her dignity, recorded her humiliation, and broadcast it to millions, all to protect a stolen fortune built on her stolen life.

“Where is Magnus?” Emily asked, her chin lifting.

“He is at his estate in Washington,” Judith replied, a rare, soft note entering her professional tone. “He is very ill, Miss Twitty. But he is waiting for you. And he has given me full authority to execute his legal strategy the moment you give the word.”

“What strategy?”

Judith smiled thinly—a sharp, cold expression. “A full federal petition for corporate fraud, kidnapping, and the immediate freezing of every asset under the Twitty corporate umbrella. We don’t just clear your name, Clara. We dismantle everything Robert Twitty built with your father’s life.”

For the first time in her memory, Emily didn’t feel afraid. The shame that had weighed on her chest since the night at the ballroom vanished, replaced by an icy, unwavering clarity. Robert Twitty had given her twenty-eight years of silence. Now, she was going to give him a voice he couldn’t turn off.

“Call the press,” Emily said quietly, meeting Judith’s gaze. “And tell my brother to enjoy his victory while it lasts.”