The next day, Matilda made discreet calls to old friends. “Hey, it’s Matilda. I needed to talk about Vincent…” Her voice was casual, but her note-taking was feverish. Each conversation offered fragments that clicked into place, confirming her suspicions.
With each new piece of information, Matilda’s determination grew. She stood by her window, gazing out with a hardened expression. “He thinks he’s won,” she muttered, her voice low and firm. “But I’m not done yet.” She felt her resolve solidify, her mind racing with ideas.