The envelope arrived mid-morning.
No markings.
No sender.
Just a small, unremarkable packet slipped onto Malik's desk by a trusted courier arranged through Victoria Lane.
Inside, nestled against crisp black velvet, was the USB drive.
No fanfare.
No drama.
Just the simple, brutal weight of finality in Malik's palm.
He turned it once between his fingers, feeling the subtle texture of the metal casing.
It would only take one click.
One flicker of a screen.
One glimpse of what he already knew.
But he didn't move toward the computer.
Not yet.
The time for pain had passed some time ago.
Maybe years.
What mattered now wasn't knowing.
It was finishing.
Malik tucked the USB into his breast pocket and turned back to his desk.
Stacks of contracts waited for him — quarterly filings, project renewals, acquisition proposals.
Ordinary things.
Things that built empires.
He buzzed Jordan, his assistant.
"Send a note to Serena's office," he said calmly.
"Tell her I'll need her signature on the updated tender packet by the end of the week."
"Yes, sir."
"And have legal insert the new amendment... the one Victoria finalized."
There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the line.
Then:
"Understood, sir."
Malik hung up, staring for a moment at the framed skyline outside his office windows.
It was almost laughable, how easy it would be.
The divorce paperwork folded neatly inside a stack of legitimate company documents.
Legal language buried where no one would think to question it.
A signature here.
A date there.
No arguments.
No scandals.
Just ink drying on the last page of their farce.
He pulled open his desk drawer and slipped the USB inside, closing it with a soft click.
He would watch it.
Later.
When it didn't matter anymore.
When the papers were signed, and Serena Calvert-Graves was no longer his wife.
Across the city, Serena scrolled mindlessly through her flooded inbox, deleting emails she couldn't fix, rescheduling interviews she knew would never happen.
When the message from Jordan arrived — polite, efficient, professional — she felt an odd flicker of hope.
Malik needed her signature.
It wasn't much.
But maybe it meant he still saw her as part of the future they had once built.
Maybe she could fix this after all.
She didn't realize she was already holding the pen that would end her story.