My husband forced me to endure fifty strikes of a leather riding crop while his new favorite sat close by, casually sipping her wine and keeping tally.

The cell was a soundproof concrete bunker buried three levels beneath the Vanguard estate. Julian was chained to a steel chair in the center of the room, shivering violently under the harsh fluorescent lights.

When my father and I walked in, Julian looked up with bruised, swollen eyes.

“Evelyn, please,” Julian croaked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just let me go. I’ll disappear.”

I pulled up a metal folding chair and sat directly in front of him. I didn't look like the subservient wife anymore. I looked like a Vanguard.

“We aren't here to talk about your infidelity or your embezzlement, Julian,” I said, crossing my legs. “We are here to talk about a man you call the 'Director'. We are here to talk about a plane crash twenty years ago.”

Julian’s eyes widened in sheer panic. He thrashed against the chains. “No! No, you don't understand! If I say anything, they’ll kill me! They’ll kill all of us!”

My father stepped forward, pulling a hunting knife from his belt. He slammed the blade into the steel table right next to Julian’s bound hand.

“They might kill you, Julian,” my father growled. “But I am standing right in front of you. And I have very little patience.”

Julian broke down entirely. “The Syndicate! It’s a shadow organization. They manipulate global markets, fund coups... your mother, she wasn't just a socialite! She was investigating them. She found their primary ledger. They blew the plane out of the sky to silence her.”

“Who is the Director?” I demanded.

“I don't know his real name!” Julian wept. “I swear! I’ve only ever spoken to him over encrypted lines. My handler is the only one who meets him in person!”