The woman standing on my front porch couldn't have been more than thirty, but life had carved years into her face.

Through the distorted fish-eye lens of the peephole, Arthur Sterling looked every bit the polished, untouchable corporate elite. Impeccably tailored charcoal suit, silver hair neatly combed, a briefcase gripped in one hand. But it was the man standing directly behind him that made my blood run cold.

A burly, thick-necked man in a plain leather jacket—private security, or worse, muscle for hire—was scanning the street with cold, calculating eyes. He didn't look like an attorney's assistant. He looked like an enforcer.

My hand hovered over the deadbolt. Every instinct screamed at me not to open the door, but turning him away wasn't an option anymore. He was already here.

"Ethan? Who is it?" Claire whispered from the hallway archway, her voice trembling as she clutched a kitchen knife she had quietly retrieved from the block.

"Shh," I held up a hand, motioning for her to stay back with Lily. "Go into the back bedroom. Lock the door. If you hear anything, use the emergency burner phone Harrison gave me."

Claire hesitated, her eyes filled with terror, but she nodded and slipped quietly down the hallway toward the nursery.

I took a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the door open.

Arthur Sterling didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped across the threshold with smooth, calculated grace, bringing with him the sharp, expensive scent of cologne and impending doom. The burly man in the leather jacket slipped in right behind him, closing the front door firmly with a heavy click.

"Good afternoon, Ethan," Sterling said, his voice dripping with oily, patronizing charm as he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "I trust you're having a pleasant, if somewhat chaotic, day."

"Get out of my house," I said, my voice dropping into a harsh, dangerous growl. I didn't move from the entryway, blocking their path to the hallway. "You are trespassing."

Sterling offered a thin, humorless smile, glancing around the foyer as if inspecting a property he intended to foreclose on.

"Technically, Ethan, this house is currently under a federal asset freeze pending the probate resolution of your late wife's estate," Sterling replied smoothly, stepping closer. "So legally speaking, I have every right to be inspecting the premises on behalf of the primary executor—your mother."

"My mother is a murderer and a kidnapper," I snapped back, my fists clenching at my sides. "And you're an accessory to her crimes. The attorney general's office already has your file, Sterling. You're finished."

For a fraction of a second, the polished mask slipped. A brief flash of genuine panic crossed Sterling's face, replaced instantly by a hardened, predatory sneer.

"You think a few junior federal investigators can touch me?" Sterling laughed softly, a dry, grating sound. "Margaret was sloppy. I warned her years ago that keeping that girl alive was a liability. She should have finished the job properly down at the river."

The words hung in the air like poison gas.

Behind Sterling, the burly enforcer stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a sickening pop.

"Mr. Sterling doesn't have time for your amateur dramatics, kid," the enforcer grunted, his voice deep and gravelly. "We need the signature on the asset transfer forms, and then we need to clean up this little domestic inconvenience before the real cops catch up."

"You won't leave this house," I said, my voice eerily calm as I braced my weight onto my back foot, preparing to fight for my life.

"Oh, Ethan," Sterling sighed, pulling a folded document and a gold pen from his briefcase. "You always were entirely too naive. Do you really think parked cars two houses down mean anything when the precinct dispatch chief answers directly to my firm?"

A cold realization hit me like a physical blow.