My husband kissed our eight-year-old son goodnight after poisoning us at the dinner table, stepped over my body, and whispered into his phone, "It's done

The private estate in the forested hills outside the city was shrouded in fog. Heavy wrought-iron gates stood half-open, guarded only by security cameras that Marcus had already blacked out using a signal loop.

The green van pulled into a dark grove of pine trees three hundred yards from the main house—a sprawling glass-and-timber modern mansion belonging to Julia Vane.

"Ryan is safe here," Marcus assured me, checking the biometric monitor hooked to my son's wrist. He was sleeping deeply, his breathing steady and peaceful. Marcus handed me a small black earpiece and pinned the button camera inside the collar of my dark jacket. "I will be monitoring every second. Federal agents are already positioned along the perimeter road. As soon as we capture Ethan admitting to the trust fund theft and the poisoning, they will move in."

I looked down at my hands. The physical weakness was returning, a heavy lethargy dragging at my limbs as the booster drug began to wear off. But inside my heart, a burning fire replaced the physical strength. He had tried to kill my baby. He had kissed Ryan goodnight, knowing the poison was tearing through his little body, and walked out to live a life of luxury.

"I'm ready," I said.

I stepped out into the damp, cold night air. The driveway was slick with rain. Parked near the front entrance of the mansion was Ethan's sleek black Audi.

I approached the house silently, keeping to the shadows of the landscaped gardens. The massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the living room offered a clear view inside.

Ethan stood near a stone fireplace, holding a crystal glass of scotch. Standing across from him was Julia Vane—a tall, impeccably dressed woman with sharp, blonde hair, holding a thick leather-bound ledger.

"...it's taken care of," Ethan was saying, his voice carrying clearly through the cracked patio door. "The security at the hospital is keeping her isolated. By tomorrow morning, the organ failure will look like a natural complication from the toxic ingestion."

"And the boy?" Julia asked, pouring herself a drink.

"He won't wake up either," Ethan said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "It's clean, Julia. The police bought the narrative about her depression. Once the funeral is over, your bank receives the authorization to release the twelve million from the trust."

"You were sloppy with the insurance forms, Ethan," Julia said coldly. "The police found copies in your kitchen trash."

"That was a mistake," Ethan snapped, his voice tight. "Someone tipped her off. I don't know who, but it doesn't matter now. They're dead or dying. The paper trail ends tonight when we burn these ledgers."

He tossed his empty glass onto the sofa and reached for the leather ledger in Julia's hands.

CLICK.

The heavy glass patio door slid open.

The cool night wind rushed into the warm living room, carrying with it the scent of wet pine and rain.

Ethan and Julia both spun around.

I stepped over the threshold, stepping into the warm light of the room. I was pale, my hair damp from the rain, my eyes burning with an unyielding, fierce light.