My husband stood beneath the chandeliers of the Grand Meridian Hotel

The Obsidian Room dissolved into utter chaos as the heavy double doors were thrown open by federal agents clad in dark suits and windbreakers bearing the yellow initials of the SEC and the FBI.

"Federal agents! Nobody leave the room! Step away from the tables!"

Special Agent Miller led the sweep, his badge held high, followed by half a dozen armed agents. Board members scrambled to step back, hands raised, their high-society composure completely destroyed.

"Marcus Whitaker, Grayson Whitaker," Agent Miller announced, walking straight toward the head of the table. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, and corporate embezzlement. You have the right to remain silent."

Grayson began to tremble uncontrollably. "Wait! This is a misunderstanding! It was my father! I just signed what he told me to sign! I have immunity agreements, I can cooperate—"

"Shut your mouth, you pathetic coward!" Marcus roared, the venom finally breaking through his aristocratic mask. "You have Whitaker blood in your veins, act like a man!"

As the agents moved in with handcuffs, Elena slipped past the chaotic cluster of board members, her face pale, her breathing shallow. She caught my arm as I stepped aside toward the hallway.

"Vivian, please," Elena begged in a desperate whisper, her tears cutting tracks through her foundation. "You have to help me. I didn't know about Christopher. I swear on my life, I didn't know they killed your father! Grayson told me Christopher died of a stroke behind the wheel! I only handled the shell company filings because he promised we would leave the country together!"

I pulled my arm from her grasp, looking at her with cold pity. "You slept with my husband in my own house, Elena. You helped them steal my father's life's work. You don't get to claim innocence now."

"Lucas!" Elena turned toward her brother, dropping to her knees. "Lucas, tell her! You're my brother! They’re going to send me to prison for twenty years! You know what Marcus does to people who cross him—he’ll have me killed in holding to keep me quiet!"

Lucas looked down at his sister. His expression was a stone wall, but beneath the hardened surface, I saw the flicker of old, painful scars. "You made your bed with snakes, Elena. The only way you survive this is by telling the prosecutors every single password to the offshore accounts."

"I will! I have the encryption key on a physical flash drive!" Elena cried out, reaching frantically into her designer handbag. "It’s in a safety deposit box at the harbor branch of First Republic. It has the original video footage from the highway toll booth on the night of Christopher’s crash—the footage Marcus paid the police captain to erase!"

My breath caught in my throat. *The toll booth footage.*

That was the missing link. The audit proved the money trail, but the toll booth footage would prove the murder. It would prove that my father’s car was deliberately forced off the bridge by Marcus's enforcers.

Before Elena could say another word, a deafening crack shattered the stillness of the room.

The thick reinforced glass window behind the board table didn't shatter, but a spiderweb of cracks bloomed outward from a small, clean puncture hole at the center.

A high-caliber sniper round had penetrated the glass.

Marcus Whitaker’s personal attorney, who had been standing beside the window clutching a briefcase, gasped, clutched his chest, and collapsed to the floor in a heap of blood.