MY HUSBAND LAUGHED WHEN HIS MOTHER HUM.ILIAT.ED ME AT OUR WEDDING—SO I EMPTIED HER BANK ACCOUNTS AND UNCOVERED MY "DE.AD" FATHER'S SICK CONSPIRACY

I knew I couldn't walk into a meeting with a union mob boss alone. I needed a human shield.

I drove a stolen beater car to the one place my father wouldn't expect me to go: Eleanor’s massive, gated suburban estate.

Eleanor wasn't there—she was still hunting me with my parents. But I knew exactly how to get inside. Marcus had shown me the keypad code to the side entrance months ago.

I slipped into the dark, silent mansion. I walked straight to the master bedroom and opened Eleanor’s massive walk-in closet. Hidden behind a row of designer coats was a heavy floor safe.

I pulled out my forensic accounting tools and a stethoscope I bought at a late-night pharmacy. It took me twenty minutes to crack the mechanical dial.

The safe swung open.

Inside wasn't money. It was stacks of forged legal documents. Fake deeds, dummy corporations, and the original, untampered pension ledgers.

Suddenly, the lights in the bedroom snapped on.

I spun around.

Standing in the doorway, holding a hunting rifle, was Eleanor’s private head of security, a massive man named Briggs.

“Put your hands up, Mrs. Mercer,” Briggs grunted.

Before I could raise my hands, a second figure stepped into the room behind Briggs.

It was Eleanor.

She looked exhausted, her hair messy, her designer dress ruined by the rain. She had left my parents at the motel.

“You broke into my safe,” Eleanor whispered, staring at the open steel door.

“I did,” I said, standing up. “And I found the original pension ledgers. The ones that prove you acted alone when you set up the initial shell companies.”

“Briggs, shoot her,” Eleanor ordered coldly.

“If he shoots me, Eleanor, you die tonight,” I said, crossing my arms. “I just called Frank Moretti. He knows you stole his money. He’s meeting me at the downtown bank in thirty minutes. If I don't show up with the laptop, he’s coming here to burn this house to the ground.”

Eleanor went completely pale.

“You called Frank?” she choked out.

“I did. And I’m going to hand him the money, Marcus, and my parents,” I lied smoothly. “But I need your biometric thumbprint to bypass the bank's night-vault security. You help me, and I tell Frank my father acted alone.”

Eleanor stared at me, trapped. She hated me, but she feared Frank Moretti more than anything in the world.

She slowly lowered the rifle.

“Fine,” Eleanor spat. “We go to the bank.”

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