I walked through freezing snow with my newborn because my parents said we were broke.

I did not go back to that house. Instead, James drove us to Grandfather’s penthouse overlooking the city—a sprawling, secure fortress of marble and glass. By the time we arrived, a private concierge doctor was waiting.

Dr. Aris examined Leo first, confirming that my desperate attempts to shield him with my body had worked. The baby was cold, but perfectly healthy. Then, she tended to me. She cleaned the infected stitches from my delivery, bandaged my blistered feet, and administered a heavy dose of antibiotics.

“She is malnourished, Arthur,” Dr. Aris told my grandfather quietly in the hallway. “Her iron levels are dangerously low for a postpartum mother. What kind of people let a woman recover from childbirth in this condition?”

“The kind of people who are going to wish they had never been born,” Grandfather replied, his voice drifting into the bedroom where I lay against silk pillows.

For the first time in nine months, I slept without fear.

I woke up late the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and warm pastries. A private nurse was rocking Leo by the window, cooing softly to him. Grandfather was sitting in a leather armchair at the foot of my bed, a tablet in his hand.

“Good morning, Elena,” he said, setting the tablet down. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m waking up from a nightmare,” I whispered, sitting up. “Is it true? Did they really steal everything?”

“Every last cent,” he said. “But they made a fatal error, my dear. They assumed that because I travel often and give you space, I was not paying attention. And they assumed you would die quietly in the snow rather than fight back.”

He handed me a fresh, steaming cup of tea.

“At 6:00 AM this morning,” Grandfather continued, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light, “the state froze Robert and Sylvia’s bank accounts. Their credit cards have been deactivated. The locks on their shell companies have been changed by federal authorities.”

“What about Chloe?” I asked, thinking of my sister parading around in my coat, dangling my car keys.

Grandfather checked his gold pocket watch. “Ah. Chloe. Let me show you something.”

He tapped a button on a remote, and the massive flat-screen TV on the wall flickered to life, showing a local news channel.

The breaking news banner read: SOCIALITE ARRESTED IN STOLEN VEHICLE.

There, on the screen, was helicopter footage of my silver Porsche pulled over on the icy highway. My sister Chloe was standing in the slush, wearing my cashmere coat, her hands cuffed behind her back as two state troopers pushed her into the back of a squad car.