On our wedding night, I carefully lowered the back of my wife’s gown and froze when I saw the long scars across her skin. “Who did this?” I whispered. Claire shook in my arms. “My stepfather. He said no one would ever believe me.”

Monday morning.

The honeymoon to Maui had been indefinitely postponed, but neither of us cared. We were in the federal building downtown. Elise was in a safe room with a victim’s advocate, giving her official statement.

I was walking down a sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway with Sarah.

“He’s refusing to speak without his lawyer,” Sarah said, handing me a tablet. “But his lawyer is currently trying to figure out why his retainer check just bounced.”

“You froze everything?” I asked, swiping through the financial data.

“Every single red cent,” Sarah smiled grimly. “He can't even buy a candy bar from the commissary. You want five minutes with him?”

“I do.”

Sarah opened the heavy steel door to Interrogation Room 3.

Arthur Vance sat at the metal table, wearing an orange jumpsuit that clashed violently with his aristocratic ego. He looked exhausted, his hair unkempt, the smugness completely scrubbed from his face.

When he saw me walk in, his eyes narrowed with pure hatred.

“You,” Arthur spat, rattling the handcuffs chained to the table. “You set me up. You stole my files.”

I pulled out the metal chair across from him and sat down, entirely relaxed.

“I didn't steal anything, Arthur. Elise handed them to me. Willingly. You thought fear would keep her quiet forever. You forgot that fear turns into anger when people realize they have a way out.”

“I will destroy you,” Arthur hissed, leaning forward. “You think you’re smart? The people I manage money for… they aren't going to like that their accounts are frozen. When they find out who tipped off the feds, they will skin you and that little brat alive.”

I didn't blink. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table.

“You mean the Volkov Syndicate? Or the shell companies operating out of the Caymans?” I watched his eyes widen in pure shock. “I tracked the money, Arthur. All of it. And I already sent a little anonymous message to your Russian friends on the dark web.”

Arthur stopped breathing. “What did you do?”

“I told them you flipped,” I smiled coldly. “I told them you traded their offshore account numbers to the FBI in exchange for immunity on your domestic abuse charges.”