The phone rang abruptly.

Audrey Sullivan glanced at the caller ID displaying "Victor Sullivan," and the smile on her lips instantly froze.

She pressed answer, her voice cold as ice. "Speak."

"Heard you got robbed?" Victor's tone carried a hint of ingratiation. "You okay?"

"I'll live."

"I've told you to bring bodyguards. You never listen."

Audrey scoffed. "Aren't you having me watched around the clock?"

"That's protection!" Victor quickly defended.

"Is there a difference?"

Silence lingered before Victor abruptly changed subjects. "That Prescott kid got your bag back?"

"He's a decent man. A hundred times better than you."

"What a coincidence," Victor sneered. "Looks staged to me. Probably setting up a long con."

"Not everyone's like you," Audrey shot back. "He refused my reward money."

"Not enough, I bet."

"Who could out-con you? You swindled the entire Laurent fortune."

Victor chuckled instead of taking offense. "Business is war. With your temper, the Laurent Group would've been devoured long ago. I'm safeguarding Ethan's inheritance."

"Hypocrite!"

Audrey slammed the phone down, chest heaving.

On the other end, Victor sighed at the darkened screen.

Night deepened.

Under the sycamore in Dorset Village, Shane Prescott meticulously carved peach wood.

Moonlight filtered through leaves, casting dappled shadows across his sharp profile.

The gate creaked open.

Hank Chen swaggered in.

"Shane, whatcha making?"

Shane didn't look up, his chisel moving steadily.

Hank rubbed his nose awkwardly. "That rich lady deal fell through. Your fault..."

"Leave her alone." Shane's voice was flint.

Hank's eyes darted. "Hey, the Sullivans posted on Missing Children Network. The description fits you."

The chisel froze mid-air.

"My mom said..." Hank lowered his voice. "You're adopted?"

Shane's head snapped up, gaze sharp as blades.

Hank stumbled back, then braved closer. "If you claim that family, why stay in this business?"

"Get out."

Hank muttered as he retreated. "Remember me when you're rich..."

Once the footsteps faded, Shane stared at his half-finished carving, unable to continue.

Cicadas buzzed annoyingly.

Three days later, Sophia Laurent called about the bronze inscription.

Shane entered to find his adoptive father Silas Prescott chain-smoking.

"Sophia says it's a Chu State tally."

Silas squinted. "Next week. Same place. You're going."

Shane turned to leave, then paused.

"Am I really adopted?"

The ashtray clattered.

"Thirty years I raised you. Taught you everything. Not enough?" Silas glared. "Hank putting ideas in your head?"

Silence.

"Even if you're a Sullivan, they'd claim a tomb raider?" Silas scoffed. "Think Ethan would tolerate you?"

Seeing Shane's expression shift, he softened. "Find a wife. Have kids. Forget this nonsense."

"Don't ruin some girl's life."

"Bullshit!" Silas slammed the table. "We're better than murderers!"

Back in his room, Shane's chisel gouged deep grooves.

Two weeks later, Sophia called again.

"Mr. Prescott, my mother-in-law wants to meet you."

"Why?"

"She says it's a surprise." Sophia hesitated. "Seven tonight? La Belle Époque?"

After a long pause, Shane said, "Fine."

As he dressed to leave, Silas rasped a warning:

"We just moved goods. Lay low."