My mother slapped me so hard I slammed into the wall. My sister-in-law spat at me, and my brother-in-law laughed and called me a gold digger, thinking my husband was away on duty. But when the door opened and he walked into the room, his next words left them speechless with horror. - True Stories

The thunderstorm had returned with a vengeance, thick sheets of rain lashing against the windshield of Major Miller’s blacked-out tactical SUV as we pulled up to the gated entrance of my mother’s estate.

The heavy iron gates were smashed wide open, tire tracks carved deep into the muddy lawn.

"They're already inside," Ethan said, adjusting his tactical vest and checking the chamber of his rifle. "Sterling and DA Vance are destroying the hard drives before they leave the country."

"We move quietly," Major Miller instructed from the back. "We have no civilian backup on this. If they catch us, they won't take prisoners."

We dismounted the vehicle, slipping through the dark, rain-soaked trees surrounding the perimeter of the mansion. The grand house where I had grown up now looked like a gothic nightmare, its large windows dark except for a single flickering light coming from my father’s old library on the second floor.

We moved up the back terrace steps. Ethan picked the lock on the French doors with practiced military efficiency, and we slipped inside the silent, dark hallway.

The air smelled like burning electronics and ozone.

"Over there," I whispered, pointing toward the sweeping spiral staircase.

Muffled shouting echoed from above.

"Transfer the remaining twenty million to the Swiss account! We don't have time to wipe the physical servers!" Victoria Sterling’s sharp voice barked from the library.

"What about Beatrice?" DA Vance’s voice chimed in. "She’s sitting in a jail cell! If she talks to the feds—"

"Beatrice won't make it to her morning hearing," Victoria replied coldly. "My contact inside the holding facility is taking care of her right now. She served her purpose."

I froze on the staircase, the cold horror of her words sinking in. Even after everything my mother had done—after murdering my father and trying to ruin my life—she was about to be executed like a discarded tool by the very people she had served.

"Not if I record this conversation first," I muttered under my breath, activating the hidden microphone on my tactical vest, broadcasting the feed directly to an encrypted federal server.