I was eight when I found a wallet holding $900—enough to stop our eviction and my mom’s late-night crying—but I rode the bus across town to give it back instead.

The next two weeks were the worst of my life.

The scandal was everywhere. Every time we turned on the TV, there was Victoria, giving interviews, looking sad and concerned, talking about "the poor innocent child caught in the middle of her mother's greed." Every newspaper had a picture of our old apartment on Aldridge Street next to a picture of the Graves mansion. Every comment section online was full of people calling my mom a whore, a gold-digger, a criminal.

Nathaniel fought back. He held press conferences. He released his old letters—the ones he'd written to my mom all those years ago. He told anyone who would listen that Victoria had manipulated us, that the money had been a payoff to keep us away.

But Victoria was one step ahead.

She released more documents. Emails—faked, obviously, but convincing enough—that seemed to show my mom and Nathaniel had been in contact for years, planning the whole thing. She got "former neighbors" from Aldridge Street to say on camera that my mom had always talked about "getting back what she was owed" from the Graves family. She even got Tyler to do an interview, tears in his eyes, talking about how "scared" he was of me, how I'd "threatened" him to get my way.

It was all lies. Every word of it.

But lies spread faster than truth. Especially when the liar has billions of dollars and a team of lawyers and publicists working for them.

The board of directors at Graves Energy voted to put Nathaniel on "indefinite administrative leave." Victoria was named acting CEO. She moved into his office on the top floor of Graves Tower. She started making changes immediately—firing people Nathaniel had trusted, selling off parts of the company, lining her own pockets.

Nathaniel came to our apartment every night. He looked older. Tired. The silver in his hair seemed to have multiplied. The confidence he'd had at the gala was gone, replaced by worry and guilt.

"I'm sorry," he'd say, over and over. "This is all my fault. I should have protected you. I should have seen this coming."

My mom would hold his hand. "It's not your fault, Nathaniel. It's hers. She's been planning this for twelve years. She's just been waiting for the right moment to strike."

But I could see the doubt creeping in.

Not in my mom. Never in my mom. But in Nathaniel. He'd sit at our kitchen table for hours, staring at the wall, replaying everything Victoria had done, everything she'd said. He'd second-guess every decision he'd made since that day in the lobby.

And then came the worst part.

Victoria filed a lawsuit.

She was suing my mom for "emotional distress" and "fraud." She was suing for full custody of me. She claimed that my mom was an unfit parent—that she'd raised me in poverty, that she'd used me as a pawn, that I'd be "better off" with the Graves family.

The papers were served on a Tuesday morning. My mom read them, then dropped them on the table like they were on fire.

"She wants to take you," she whispered.

I felt my blood run cold. "She can't, can she?"

"She can try," Nathaniel said, his voice grim. "She has the best lawyers money can buy. She has the court of public opinion on her side. And she's my sister. The judge might look at her wealth and her position and think she can give you a 'better life'—no matter how much of it is built on lies."

My mom stood up, her eyes blazing. "Over my dead body. She is not taking my daughter."

"I know," Nathaniel said. "And I'm going to fight her. With everything I have. But we need proof. We need something that can prove Victoria forged those emails. That she paid off those witnesses. That she's been lying this whole time."

"Where would we get that?" I asked.

Nathaniel looked at me. "At the mansion. Victoria has been using my old study as her headquarters since she took over. If there's evidence—emails, bank records, anything—it would be in there. On her computer. Or in her files."

My mom shook her head. "It's too dangerous. She has security. Cameras everywhere. If you get caught—"

"I'm not going," Nathaniel said. He looked at me again. "Ruby is."

The room went silent.

"Absolutely not," my mom said immediately. "She's eight years old."

"Exactly," Nathaniel said. "Victoria would never suspect her. She thinks Ruby is just a kid. An inconvenience. This weekend is the annual Graves family barbecue. Everyone will be there. The security will be distracted. Ruby can slip away, go up to the study, and—"

"No," my mom said again. "It's out of the question."

I thought about Victoria. About the way she'd looked at me that first night at the mansion. About the lawsuit. About the possibility of being taken away from my mom forever.

I thought about what my mom had always taught me.

Doing the right thing matters most when nobody's watching.

"I'll do it," I said.

Both of them looked at me.

"Ruby, no," my mom said. "It's too dangerous."

"Mom," I said, taking her hand. "She's going to take me away if we don't stop her. I know it. And I'm not scared. Not really. Because I know you and Dad will be right there if I need you." I looked at Nathaniel. "What do I need to do?"

He looked at me with a mixture of pride and fear. "The study is on the second floor, down the west hall, the last door on the right. Victoria keeps her laptop on the desk. The password is her birthday—March third, nineteen seventy-two. I want you to look for a folder labeled 'Bennett.' Inside, there should be emails, bank transfers, communications with the people she paid off. Copy everything you find onto this." He pulled a small black flash drive from his pocket and handed it to me. "It's already been wiped. Just plug it in, drag the folder over, and wait for it to finish. Then bring it back to us."

I took the flash drive and slipped it into my sock.

"What if she catches me?" I asked.

"Then you say you were looking for the bathroom," Nathaniel said. "You're a kid. You got lost. It happens. She can't prove you were doing anything wrong. And I'll be right outside the door. If you need me, just yell."

My mom was crying now. "I hate this. I hate that we have to put her in this position."

"I know," Nathaniel said, putting his arm around her. "But it's the only way. If we don't get that evidence, Victoria wins. She takes Ruby. She destroys the company. And she gets away with everything."

The barbecue was on Saturday.

I wore a pink dress and white sandals. I had my hair in braids. I looked like every other eight-year-old girl in the world.

The mansion was packed. Relatives I'd never met. Business associates. Politicians. The smell of hamburgers and hot dogs filled the air. Kids ran around the backyard, screaming and playing. A band played country music by the pool.

Victoria was in her element. She was wearing white shorts and a silk blouse, holding a glass of iced tea, greeting everyone like she was the queen of the world. When she saw us, she smiled that cold smile.

"Nathaniel," she said. "Clara. Ruby. So glad you could make it. Family is everything, isn't it?"

She said it like a threat.

Tyler was there too, chasing a girl around the pool with a water gun. When he saw me, he smirked and aimed the gun in my direction. But before he could shoot, Nathaniel stepped between us.

"Not today, Tyler," he said.

Tyler rolled his eyes and ran off.

Nathaniel leaned down to me. "I'm going to create a distraction. When you see me start arguing with Victoria, that's your signal. Go up the back stairs—the one by the kitchen. It leads directly to the second-floor hallway. Go to the study. Get the files. And get out. Understand?"

I nodded. My heart was hammering in my chest.

"Good," he said. He squeezed my shoulder. "Be careful, baby girl."

He walked over to Victoria and said something I couldn't hear. Her smile faltered. She said something back. His voice rose. Hers rose too. People started turning to look.

Now.

I slipped away from my mom and headed for the kitchen. No one paid any attention to me. Everyone was watching Nathaniel and Victoria argue by the pool.

The back stairs were narrow and dark. I climbed them as quietly as I could, my hand on the rail. At the top, I peeked out into the hallway. It was empty.

I ran down the hall, my sandals slapping against the hardwood floor. The study was the last door on the right, just like Nathaniel had said. The door was slightly ajar.

I pushed it open and slipped inside.

The room was dark. Heavy curtains blocked the sunlight. Nathaniel's old desk—the one with the leather top—was now covered in Victoria's things. Her laptop was open, the screen glowing blue.

I ran over to it.

The login screen was up. I typed in the password: 030372.

The desktop loaded.

My hands were shaking as I opened the file explorer. I looked for the folder labeled "Bennett." It wasn't there. I checked the recent files. Nothing. I checked the trash. Empty.

Panic started to rise in my chest.

Where was it?

Then I saw it. An icon on the desktop labeled "Personal." I double-clicked it. Inside were dozens of folders. And there, near the bottom, was one labeled "B Project."

B Project. Bennett Project.

I double-clicked it.

There were hundreds of files. Emails. Bank transfer records. Text messages. Photos. I scanned the names. The witnesses Victoria had paid off. The lawyers who'd helped her forge the documents. The publicist who'd leaked the stories to the press.

Everything.

I pulled the flash drive from my sock and plugged it into the side of the laptop. I dragged the "B Project" folder over to the flash drive icon. A progress bar popped up.

Copying 1 of 487 files...

I held my breath.

The bar moved agonizingly slow.

Copying 127 of 487 files...

Copying 253 of 487 files...

Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Heavy. Fast. Coming this way.

I looked at the screen.

Copying 389 of 487 files...

The doorknob turned.