My husband texted me from Cancun to announce that he had married my best friend

The private hangar at Stewart International Airport was illuminated by blinding white floodlights and the flashing red-and-blue strobes of twelve federal vehicles.

It was 4:15 AM.

Despite the ungodly hour, three dozen journalists, photographers, and camera crews lined the perimeter behind police barricades. The news that Daniel Hart and Mara Cole were touching down under federal escort had leaked to every major news outlet in the country.

The cargo door of the Department of Justice transport jet lowered with a heavy hydraulic hiss.

First down the ramp came Special Agent Cruz.

Behind her, flanked by armed marshals, was Daniel.

The cameras exploded into a continuous, deafening staccato of shutter clicks and blinding flashes.

Daniel tried to duck his head, pulling his torn collar over his face, but the marshals held him upright by his arms. He was shackled at the ankles, his shuffling steps clinking loudly against the metal ramp. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale and greasy, his bespoke trousers stained with dirt. He looked entirely broken—a ruined man stripped of every shred of elegance.

"Daniel! Did you embezzle twelve million dollars for your wedding?!" a reporter screamed through a megaphone.

"Daniel, do you have a message for Evelyn Hart?!"

"Is it true your mother has been evicted from her estate?!"

Daniel flinched at every question, his teeth chattering uncontrollably in the brisk northern chill. He stumbled on the tarmac, nearly falling to his knees before a marshal hauled him back to his feet.

Then came Mara.

The sight of her drew gasps from the press pool. The former society darling, who had graced the fashion pages of *Vogue* just two months ago, was sobbing so violently that she could barely draw breath. Her inmate jumpsuit hung loosely on her frame. Her diamond engagement ring was gone—seized as evidence of criminal theft. When the camera flashes hit her face, she covered her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs:

"Stop it! Leave me alone! It wasn't me! Evelyn set us up! She set us up!"

Nobody believed her. To the cameras, to the world, to the millions of people watching the live broadcast on TikTok and television news, they were simply two arrogant traitors facing the poetic justice of their own greed.

In the back of a luxury armored SUV parked on the tarmac fifty yards away, I sat in the darkness, watching the entire spectacle through tinted bulletproof glass.

Arthur Sterling sat beside me, closing his iPad after confirming the arraignment schedule.

"They will be transported to the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Lower Manhattan," Arthur said quietly. "Arraignment is set for ten o'clock tomorrow morning before Judge Thornton. Thornton is known for his zero-tolerance stance on international financial crimes. Bail will be completely out of the question."

I watched Daniel get shoved into the back of a steel-paneled prisoner transport van. For a fleeting second, his gaze drifted across the tarmac and met the dark silhouette of my Maybach.

He couldn't see through the heavily tinted glass, but he knew.

He knew I was watching.

He stopped, his mouth opening in what looked like a silent, desperate plea, before the marshal’s heavy hand pushed him inside and slammed the heavy iron doors shut.

I pressed the button on the armrest, rolling up the privacy partition.