Since neither my birthday nor his worked, I tried another combination. Maybe he had set it to our engagement day, but that turned out to be incorrect as well.
I sat frozen in frustration, unsure of what to do next. Then, Laurel’s name suddenly crossed my mind. I started testing a series of dates tied to her birthday. After several failed attempts, the phone finally unlocked.
Unconsciously, I smiled—a mix of pride and sadness washing over me. It seemed this was the phone he used to communicate with Laurel.
I glanced at a notification from his assistant. The message read: [Mr. Rocha, the transfer deed for the beachfront tower is finalized.]
There was a file attached beneath it. I clicked on it and the owner’s name was displayed clearly—Laurel Gibbs.
I scrolled through more messages. Estate documents, deeds for mansions, limited-edition sports cars—everything pointed to an unimaginable truth. The hundreds-thousand-dollar beachfront tower was just one of countless extravagant gifts Brian had showered on Laurel.
The earliest record was a will. It says that after his death, all of his inheritance would go to Laurel.