Three days after the explosion that destroyed half of the Black family mansion, I sat in the sterile environment of Mount Sinai Hospital, watching Damian pace back and forth across the private room like a caged predator. The physical injuries from our ordeal had been minor – cuts, bruises, smoke inhalation – but the psychological aftermath was proving far more complex.

"The insurance investigators want to speak with you again," he said without preamble, his gray eyes fixing on me with an intensity that made my stomach clench. "FBI financial crimes division called this morning. So did the SEC."

Of course they did. Victor's spectacular death had unleashed a avalanche of investigations into the Black family empire. Every deal, every transaction, every business relationship was now under scrutiny. The man who had tried to frame me for corporate espionage had inadvertently exposed decades of his own corruption.

"What do they want to know?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

"Everything." Damian stopped pacing and turned to face me fully. "How you knew the evidence was fabricated. How you identified the timing inconsistencies. How you knew about Victor's left-handed grip affecting his shooting accuracy." His voice dropped to a dangerous quiet. "How you knew he was going to pull that grenade."

There it is. The question I had been dreading since we were pulled from the wine cellar. In the chaos and adrenaline of survival, Damian hadn't pressed for explanations. But now, in the cold light of investigation and scrutiny, my impossible knowledge was raising uncomfortable questions.

"I told you, I overheard conversations—"

"No." The word cut through my explanation like a blade. "I've been thinking about this for three days, Evira. Going over every detail, every moment. You didn't just overhear conversations. You knew things that no one could have known."

He moved to the window, staring out at the Manhattan skyline where smoke was still visible from the direction of the family estate. "You knew exactly when Victor would make his move. You knew he would have a weapon. You knew about the grenade before he pulled the pin. How?"

Think, Evira. What explanation could possibly make sense without revealing the truth about your rebirth?

"I've been studying him," I said carefully. "For months, I've felt like something was wrong. Little things – the way he looked at me, conversations that stopped when I entered a room, business deals that failed in ways that seemed almost deliberate."

Damian turned back to me, his expression skeptical. "So you decided to... what? Investigate my uncle?"

"I decided to protect myself." The words came easier now, built on a foundation of truth even if the full truth remained hidden. "I hired a private investigator. James Morrison. He's the one who uncovered the inconsistencies in the evidence, the timing problems, the financial irregularities."

James Morrison. The private investigator I had planned to hire in my original timeline but never got the chance. A man whose reputation for discretion and thoroughness would make him a believable source for the information I possessed.

"Morrison," Damian repeated slowly. "I've heard of him. Former FBI, very expensive, completely confidential."

"Very confidential," I agreed. "Which is why I never mentioned him before. I wasn't sure what we would find, and I didn't want to make accusations against your family without proof."

It was a plausible explanation. Not the complete truth, but close enough to reality that it would stand up to scrutiny. The real James Morrison did exist, and he would undoubtedly confirm that I had contacted him if questioned – assuming I actually hired him now to make the story retroactively true.

Damian was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. When he spoke again, his voice carried a different tone – less suspicion, more calculation.

"What else did Morrison discover?"

Here we go. This was the moment I could either retreat to safe ground or push forward into the deeper waters of the conspiracy that had destroyed the Black empire in my previous timeline.

"Victor's corruption goes back years," I said, watching Damian's face carefully. "The Singapore project funds he mentioned – that wasn't the first time he diverted company money. Morrison found evidence of at least a dozen similar incidents over the past five years."

Damian's jaw tightened. "How much?"

"Conservative estimate? Fifty million dollars. Possibly more."

The number hit him like a physical blow. I could see him calculating the impact on the company, the shareholders, the family's reputation. Fifty million dollars was enough to destroy smaller companies entirely, and even for the Black empire, it represented a significant wound.

"There's more," I continued. "The business deals that failed – Tokyo, London, the European expansion – they weren't just sabotaged. They were deliberately designed to fail from the beginning. Victor was positioning the company for a hostile takeover."

"By whom?"

This is where it gets dangerous. In my previous timeline, I had died before learning the full scope of the conspiracy. But I had seen enough to know that Victor hadn't been working alone.

"A consortium of investors," I said carefully. "Morrison is still tracking the details, but it appears to involve several of our business competitors, possibly some political figures, and at least one major financial institution."

Damian sank into the chair beside my hospital bed, the weight of this revelation clearly overwhelming him. "My father?"

"Morrison thinks Victor killed him to prevent him from discovering the embezzlement. Your father was getting too close to the truth."

This is speculation, but it fits the pattern. In my previous life, Victor had admitted to being involved in his brother's death. The details were still unclear, but the broad strokes made sense.

"Jesus Christ." Damian buried his face in his hands. "How long have you known?"

"Pieces of it for months. The full picture only came together in the last few weeks." I reached out to touch his shoulder, feeling the tension radiating from him. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I wasn't sure how deep the corruption ran, or who else might be involved."

Or whether you were part of it yourself.

Damian looked up at me, and for the first time since our wedding night, I saw vulnerability in his eyes. "You thought I might be involved."

It wasn't a question, and I didn't insult his intelligence by denying it. "I had to consider the possibility. Victor was your family. You trusted him completely. If he could fool you about his true nature, he might have been able to manipulate you into... other things."

"Like killing my wife for corporate espionage."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. We both knew how close that scenario had come to reality.

"I'm sorry," Damian said quietly. "For doubting you. For letting him manipulate me. For not seeing what was right in front of me."

This is it. The moment our marriage either dies or is reborn.

"We both made mistakes," I replied. "But we survived them. The question now is: what do we do next?"

Before Damian could answer, there was a sharp knock on the hospital room door. Marcus Chen entered without waiting for permission, his usually composed demeanor showing cracks of stress and urgency.

"We have a problem," he announced without preamble. "Several problems, actually."

Damian straightened. "What kind of problems?"

"The kind that could destroy the company in the next forty-eight hours." Marcus moved to the window, checking to ensure we couldn't be observed from outside. "Three separate hostile takeover attempts launched this morning. The SEC has frozen half our assets pending investigation. And our biggest clients are terminating contracts based on the scandal."

It's starting. The vultures were circling, just as they had in my previous timeline. Victor's death had created a power vacuum, and every enemy the Black family had ever made was moving to fill it.

"Who's behind the takeover attempts?" I asked.

Marcus glanced at Damian for permission before answering. "Whitmore Industries, Sterling Corporation, and a consortium led by Harrison Ford III."

Alexandra, Ryan, and the senator's son. The same players who had been conspiring against us from the beginning. Victor's death hadn't ended the threat – it had simply removed their inside man and forced them to operate more openly.

"They're moving fast," Damian observed.

"They have to," Marcus replied. "The window of opportunity won't stay open long. Once the investigations conclude and the company's finances are stabilized, a hostile takeover becomes much more difficult."

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"Maybe a week. Maybe less, depending on how quickly they can raise the necessary capital."

A week to save an empire. In my previous timeline, this was the period when everything had fallen apart. The Black family had been so weakened by scandal and infighting that they couldn't mount an effective defense against their enemies.

But this time was different. This time, I was alive, alert, and aware of what was coming. This time, I had allies.

"We need to get ahead of this," I said, my mind already racing through possibilities. "Marcus, what's our cash position?"

"Liquid assets are limited due to the asset freeze, but we have credit lines and international holdings that haven't been touched yet."

"Good. We'll need those." I turned to Damian. "The consortium Victor was working with – they're probably the same people orchestrating these takeover attempts. If we can prove that connection, we can turn this from a defensive battle into an offensive one."

Damian's eyes sharpened with understanding. "Conspiracy charges. Securities fraud. Possibly RICO violations if we can establish a pattern of criminal enterprise."

Now you're thinking like the ruthless businessman I married.

"Exactly. But we need proof, and we need it fast." I looked between the two men. "How quickly can you get me a meeting with James Morrison?"

"The private investigator?" Marcus asked. "Why?"

"Because," I said, settling back into my hospital bed with a smile that probably looked more predatory than reassuring, "it's time to stop playing defense and start playing offense."