MY PARENTS CUT ME FROM THANKSGIVING. MOM SAID “YOUR SISTER WANTS HER BOYFRIEND TO MAKE A GOOD FIRST IMPRESSION. SHE THINKS HAVING YOU THERE… WOULD MAKE HER LOOK BAD”.

The rain had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle by eight that evening. I sat in the back of a black SUV parked across from a high-end steakhouse in River North. Beside me sat Marcus, a former federal agent who now headed Blackwood’s private security operations.

"Are you sure about this, Boss?" Marcus asked, checking his tablet. "If Croft’s people spot us, they’ll lock down."

"They won't spot us," I said coldly. "Vanessa is meeting her former influencer friends inside. She can't resist flexing her new 'recovery.' She thinks Croft is her white knight."

My phone buzzed with a text from Mark: I filed a emergency injunction against the release of the affidavit, but the judge is hesitant without direct proof of coercion or bribery.

We’ll get the proof tonight, I texted back.

Through the smoked glass of the SUV, I watched a yellow cab pull up. My mother got out first, looking frazzled, wearing an expensive mink coat that had clearly been bought with Croft's money. Vanessa followed her, dressed in head-to-toe designer gear, her head held high as if she hadn't just been exposed as a common thief six months ago.

They felt invincible again. Croft had fed their delusion, giving them a taste of the life they felt entitled to.

"Marcus, activate the directional mic," I ordered.

Marcus tapped his screen, calibrating the long-range audio equipment aimed at the table near the restaurant’s window where Mom and Vanessa were being seated.

Inside, the restaurant was plush, dripping with mahogany and crystal. Vanessa ordered a bottle of Vintage Dom Pérignon without looking at the prices.

"Can we really afford this, Vanessa?" Mom’s voice came through the earpiece, trembling with nervous anxiety. "What if Emma’s lawyers find out Mr. Croft is paying for all this?"

"Let them!" Vanessa’s voice was laced with poison. "Emma thinks she’s untouchable because she has money and a fancy firm. But Mr. Croft explained it to me, Mom. Once I sign the final statement saying Emma forced me to forge those documents, the state will drop Croft’s charges, and Croft will sue Emma for two hundred million dollars. We’re going to get half of that."

"Half?" Mom gasped. "Vanessa... that’s... tens of millions."

"Exactly," Vanessa purred. "We won't just get our life back, Mom. We’ll be richer than Emma ever was. And Dad won't have to go to prison. Croft’s lawyers said Dad’s signature forgery will be framed as Emma manipulating him while he was under financial stress."

In the back of the SUV, I closed my eyes for a brief moment. The absolute, breathtaking malice of my own family never failed to astound me. They weren't just trying to protect themselves; they were actively trying to frame me for the very crimes they had committed against me.

"Do you have that recorded, Marcus?" I asked softly.

"Crystal clear, Ms. Lawson," Marcus confirmed. "High-definition audio and synchronized video. But it's only a partial admission. We need Croft on record admitting to subornation of perjury."

"We will," I said. "Vanessa is too sloppy to keep a secret."

Suddenly, my driver’s door opened. Daniel slid into the front passenger seat, bringing the scent of rain and cold air with him.

"You shouldn't be here, Daniel," I said.

"I followed Croft’s lieutenant," Daniel said, turning around to look at me. "His name is Victor Vance. He just entered the restaurant through the back entrance. He’s carrying a briefcase."

"The second payment," I murmured.

"Emma," Daniel’s voice softened, his eyes searching mine in the dim light of the dashboard. "Why are you doing this alone? You have people who care about you now. Me, Mark, your team."

I looked at Daniel. For months, he had been a constant, steady presence—never pushing, always protecting, quietly making up for the betrayal he had inadvertently witnessed on my porch that Thanksgiving morning.

"Because if I let anyone else fight this battle, Daniel, they become a target," I said quietly. "My family is a disease. I have to quarantine it myself."

"You're wrong," Daniel said, reaching out and gently touching my hand. "You aren't a quarantine, Emma. You're the victim of an infection. Let us help you put an end to it."

Before I could answer, Marcus interrupted. "Boss! Look at the window."

Inside the restaurant, Victor Vance had approached Vanessa’s table. He laid the briefcase on the white tablecloth, popped the latches, and opened it just wide enough for Vanessa to see the stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills inside.

"Mr. Croft expects the final signed affidavit by midnight," Vance’s harsh voice came through the mic. "No more delays, Ms. Lawson. You take the money, you sign the papers, and you testify on Monday."

Vanessa reached out, her fingers caressing the stacks of cash with an expression of pure euphoria. "Tell Mr. Croft he has a deal. My sister is going down."

"Wait," Mom said, grabbing Vanessa’s wrist. "Vanessa, what if Emma proves it's a lie? She has all those records—"

Vanessa slapped Mom’s hand away hard enough to draw glances from neighboring tables. "Shut up, Mom! Emma has nothing! She’s a lonely, pathetic accountant who got lucky. It’s our turn now!"