An hour before our house filled with wealthy guests, my husband slammed my face into a bathroom mirror while his mother calmly watched. Then he spotted the faint red light flashing inside my pocket and shouted, "What's in there?!" If he discovered the federal emergency device before I pressed it one last time, I wouldn't survive the night. So I made the only choice I had—I threw myself onto a floor covered in shattered, blood-soaked glass.

"Marcus!" I tried to scream, but my voice was nothing more than a ragged, bloody whisper that was swallowed by the chaos below.

Vance was on his knees near the marble fountain in the foyer, his hands clasped behind his head, coughing hysterically from the tear gas and smoke drifting through the shattered entrance.

Arthur Vance wasn't complying. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small snub-nosed revolver he kept hidden in his inner jacket.

"Get out of my house!" Arthur roared, aiming the revolver at the lead tactical team. "You have no jurisdiction here! I own the district attorney! I own—"

BANG.

A single non-lethal beanbag round struck Arthur directly in the center of his chest. The force lifted the sixty-eight-year-old billionaire off his feet, launching him backward into the grand marble fountain. He hit the water with a massive splash, his revolver clattering harmlessly across the slick floor tiles.

"CONTAIN THE PERIMETER!" Marcus’s voice cut through the shouting. He raised his rifle, scanning the room with lethal efficiency before turning his gaze toward the grand staircase.

He saw me.

Even through his tactical visor, I saw his eyes widen in raw, unadulterated horror as he registered my blood-soaked clothes, my swollen face, and the glass shards still embedded in my bare arms.

"SARAH!"

Marcus stripped off his heavy tactical gloves, throwing his rifle onto its shoulder sling as he sprinted up the grand staircase four steps at a time.

He reached me just as my legs gave out completely.

He caught me before I hit the floor, lifting my head with gentle, trembling hands that contrasted sharply with his terrifying tactical gear.

"I’m here, Sarah," Marcus whispered, his voice cracking as he pulled me against his chest armor. "I’m here. God, Sarah... look at what he did to you..."

"The... the safe..." I choked out, grabbing his tactical vest with my bloody fingers. "In Arthur’s study... behind the painting... the offshore ledgers... the Sterling accounts..."

"Shh, shh, don't talk," Marcus commanded softly, signaling to two tactical medics who were already rushing up the stairs with trauma kits. "We have the warrants, Sarah. Financial Crimes units cleared their corporate offices ten minutes ago in Dallas. It’s over. Every single asset is frozen."

Down below, Vance was being dragged to his feet by two federal agents. They forced his arms behind his back, snapping heavy steel handcuffs over his wrists.

Vance looked up, his face twisted in shock as he saw Marcus holding me at the top of the stairs.

"Sarah?!" Vance yelled, his voice cracking with desperation and confusion. "Sarah, tell them! Tell them it was an accident! Tell them you fell! You broke the mirror yourself!"

Beatrice was on her knees beside the marble fountain, her expensive cream gown ruined by dirty water, crying hysterically as female federal agents placed her under arrest for obstruction and conspiracy.