My husband struck me over a missing cufflink... but by breakfast, the District Attorney was sitting at our dining table, watching the video that would dismantle his entire world.

The jury took less than four hours.

Guilty on all counts.

When the foreman read the verdict, Marcus didn't scream or shout. He just sat there, hollowed out, staring at the wood grain of the table. He was sentenced to twenty-five years in federal prison without the possibility of parole.

A week later, the aftershocks hit the city. The mayor, implicated by Marcus’s files, resigned in disgrace. The police commissioner was indicted. The DA, Elias Thorne, was suddenly the hero of the state, though he knew exactly who had handed him the sword.

I stood on the balcony of my new apartment overlooking the city. The bruises on my face had finally faded, leaving clear, unblemished skin. I had dropped the name Vance and gone back to Nora Marceau.

My phone buzzed on the patio table. It was an encrypted text from my old FBI handler. The Bureau wants you back. We have a new cartel case. Need a forensic accountant who isn't afraid of the dark.

I smiled, taking a sip of my dark roast coffee. I looked out at the city skyline—a city that was just a little bit cleaner today than it was a month ago.