At the same time, Marion was dealing with some journalists.


    "Mercy. We were just paid to publish the news."


    "This has nothing to do with us."


    "We''ll take down the articles right now."


    Marion sat on the sofa, ncing at his watch. "Ten minutes."


    "You heard the man," barked one of his subordinates, glowering at the newspaper executives cowering in the corner. "Ten minutes to scrub every trace of this."


    Marion raised a hand. "Don''t frighten our guests. I''m known for being reasonable."


    The publishers exchanged uneasy nces before calling their teams to halt all operations.


    Ten minutester, Marion refreshed the news page. Every negative headline had vanished.


    "Don''t let me see another word about this."


    "Rest assured, Mr. Houston. Such false reports will never surface again."


    "Yes. This''ll never happen again."


    "Please, just let us go."


    Marion stood up, silencing the chorus with a flick of his wrist. His men then ushered the publishers out.


    "Sir," one subordinate reported, "our PR team has handled the rest. Vickie Donaldson won''t get away with this."


    "Good." Marion nodded.


    The situation was under control, but he refused to let even a ripple of stress reach Debra.


    "Let''s go."


    As his car pulled away, a notification shed on his phone.


    It was a news article titled "Fake


    Heiress Exposed. Surgery, Lie


    swf


    flove


    Stolen Identity".


    He clicked the article. It detailed Vickie''s cosmetic surgeries,


    fabricated backstory, and overseas aliases,plete with


    эл


    before-and-after photos and leaked documents.


    "Sir, should we intervene?" his aide asked.


    The evidence was damning. Vickie''s fraud was now undeniable.


    Marion stared at the screen, his brow furrowing.


    That afternoon, Debra stirred awake.


    Warmth seeped into her palm. Marion sat beside her, their fingers entwined. He''d fallen asleep in his chair exhaustion etching hiso features.


    As she draped a nket over him, his eyes fluttered open.


    "Feeling better?" he asked softly. "I made oatmeal. Would you like some?"


    She shook her head. "I''m not hungry."


    He offered, "I''ll prepare your favorite dishes. You need vitamins to recover."


    Her gaze turned solemn. "Did you find the old newspapers?"


    Marion hesitated, the words clotting in his throat.


    Finally, he replied quietly, "No."