The very first sound I heard after returning from eight months on a North Sea drilling project was my mother pleading with someone to stop.

At 2:45 PM, I was sitting in Marcus Sterling's office. On the massive wall monitor, a live digital trace of my mother’s primary trust account was displayed, coordinated with the FBI's financial crimes unit.

Valerie and Harrison were currently sitting in Harrison’s downtown office. I knew this because I had hired a private investigator to tail Valerie the moment she fled my house.

"They are preparing the transfer," the lead FBI agent said over the speakerphone. "Harrison Price is logging into the secure portal using the forged Power of Attorney credentials."

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was the point of no return.

"Wait for it," Marcus murmured, staring at the screen.

On the monitor, the account balance of $4.2 million suddenly flashed red.

TRANSFER INITIATED. DESTINATION: CAYMAN ISLANDS SHELL CORP (V-HOLDINGS).

"He pressed the button," the FBI agent confirmed. "The funds are currently in transit. We are mirroring the receipt. The Cayman account will show a successful deposit, but the funds are officially locked in a federal escrow vault."

I let out a long, heavy breath. "They took the bait."

"We have a confirmed 10-4 on wire fraud," the agent stated, his voice turning strictly professional. "Mr. Vance, we have tactical units standing by at Harrison Price’s law firm. Do we have a green light to execute the arrest warrants?"

I looked at the clock. It was 3:00 PM. The middle of the business day. Harrison’s law firm would be packed with high-end clients, paralegals, and senior partners.

"Green light," I said coldly. "Burn them to the ground."

Across town, in the towering glass skyscraper that housed Price & Associates, Harrison Price leaned back in his leather executive chair and smiled.

"It's done," Harrison said, looking across his mahogany desk at Valerie.

Valerie, who had been chewing nervously on her thumbnail, let out a massive sigh of relief. She looked exhausted, her hair messy from a night spent in a cheap motel, but a greedy light danced in her eyes.

"Are you sure David can't reverse it?" Valerie asked frantically. "He kicked me out last night, Harrison. He found the blue case. He said he had footage."

Harrison scoffed, adjusting his Rolex. "Footage of what? You being stern with a senile woman? It's circumstantial at best. By the time David hires a lawyer to contest the power of attorney, the money will be washed through three different offshore accounts. We’ve won, Valerie. You're a multi-millionaire."

Valerie finally smiled. A genuine, terrifying smile of pure malice. "Good. I earned every penny dealing with that miserable old hag."

Before Harrison could pour them a celebratory glass of scotch, the heavy oak doors of his office exploded open.

Harrison jumped to his feet. "What is the meaning of this?!"

A dozen FBI agents in tactical windbreakers swarmed the room. They moved with terrifying precision, bypassing the screaming receptionist in the hallway.

"Harrison Price!" the lead agent barked, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, forgery, and grand larceny."

Harrison’s face turned the color of wet ash. "This is a mistake! I am a senior partner! I demand to speak to my counsel!"

Two agents slammed him face-first into his own mahogany desk, violently pulling his arms behind his back. The clatter of the handcuffs echoing through the office was the sweetest sound Valerie had ever heard—until an agent turned to her.

"Valerie Vance," the agent said, stepping toward her. "You are under arrest for elder abuse, aggravated assault, and conspiracy to commit wire fraud."

"No!" Valerie shrieked, backing away until she hit the wall. "No, I didn't do anything! He did it! Harrison did all the paperwork! I'm a victim!"

"Tell it to the judge," the agent replied, grabbing her wrist and snapping the cuffs shut.

As they were marched out of the office, paraded in front of dozens of shocked paralegals and elite clients, Valerie caught sight of the television in the lobby.

The local news was playing. And there, broadcast in high-definition for the entire city to see, was the security footage of her raising the wooden broom handle over my mother’s head.