MY BROTHER DESTROYED MY $78,000 SUV BECAUSE I REFUSED TO GIVE IT TO HIS WIFE—THEN MY OWN MOTHER DEMANDED I LIE TO THE INSURANCE COMPANY! BUT WHEN POLICE PLAYED A SECRET RECORDING, SHE PANICKED AND REACHED FOR THE TABLET... WHAT WAS SHE SO DESPERATE TO HIDE?

The county detention center smelled of industrial bleach, damp concrete, and despair.

Ethan sat in the small, glass-partitioned visitor booth of the women's facility. Across from him, separated by thick plexiglass and speaking through a scratchy black telephone receiver, sat Vanessa Vance.

She looked unrecognizable. The glamorous, smug influencer-realtor who had giggled while Julian pulverized Ethan’s SUV was completely shattered. Her fake eyelashes were gone, her blonde extensions were matted and greasy, and she wore a standard-issue orange jumpsuit that hung off her slight frame like a burlap sack. Her makeup was washed away, revealing sunken eyes and sallow, terrified skin.

“Ethan... thank God you came,” Vanessa sobbed into the telephone, pressing her palm against the glass. “Please. You have to help me. My lawyer says I’m facing five to ten years for notary fraud, falsifying state records, and grand larceny conspiracy. I have no criminal record, Ethan! I can’t go to prison! I’ll die in there!”

Ethan picked up his receiver, holding it casually against his ear. His expression was completely neutral, like an auditor reviewing an overdue electric bill.

“You were very cheerful yesterday afternoon, Vanessa,” Ethan said, his voice flat through the wire. “You told Julian to teach me a lesson. You filmed it. Did you post that video to your social media like you planned?”

Vanessa flinched as if struck. “I was scared of him! You don't know what Julian is like behind closed doors, Ethan! He’s a monster! He threatened me! He said if I didn't stamp those forged documents, he’d kill my dog! He told me his mother had a judge in her pocket who would make sure everything was legal!”

Ethan leaned in closer to the glass. “Cut the crap, Vanessa. The district attorney already pulled your text messages from your cloud backup.”

Vanessa froze, the color draining from her lips.

“You weren't an innocent victim,” Ethan continued coldly. “Two weeks ago, you texted Julian: *‘Tell your pathetic brother that if he doesn't hand over the keys to the Porsche, we’ll trigger the deed transfer early and lock him out of his own house.’* And three days before that, you texted your friend: *‘Once Eleanor gets Ethan’s house, she’s flipping it to me for a dollar, and I’m listing it for 1.3 million. We’re finally going to be rich, babe.’*”

Vanessa swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. She realized, with sickening finality, that Ethan held every card in the deck.

“I... I was just talking,” she whispered weakly. “People say things when they’re stressed...”

“You want out of prison?” Ethan asked.

Vanessa sat up straight, grasping the receiver with both hands, her eyes lighting up with desperate hope. “Yes! Anything! Ethan, please, I’ll do anything! What do you want? Money? I don't have any, Julian spent it all, but—”

“I want the offshore accounts,” Ethan interrupted.

Vanessa’s eyes darted nervously to the left and right, checking the corrections officer stationed near the door. “I... I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Ethan tapped on the glass with his index finger. “Apex Crest Holdings LLC. The folder Lawson found in Julian’s truck. You were the registered corporate agent who filed the articles of incorporation in Delaware, Vanessa. You used your real estate license to set up the dummy shell company. Julian didn't have the brains to do that. Eleanor didn't have the tech skills. That was all you.”

Ethan leaned his forehead against the receiver. “My late father had a life insurance policy twenty-two years ago. When he died, Eleanor claimed the company went bankrupt and paid out nothing. But last night, my forensic accountant found an old transfer trail. Eleanor took my father’s $400,000 payout, hid it from probate court, and washed it through Delaware shell accounts to keep it away from me. You three have been living off my father’s ghost for two decades.”

Vanessa began to cry, but this time, they were tears of raw, cornered terror.

“If you cooperate with the State Attorney General,” Ethan said evenly, “if you hand over every password, every bank routing number, and every corporate ledger linking Eleanor and Julian to the Apex Crest embezzlement scheme... the prosecutor might offer you a plea deal for third-degree facilitation. You’ll get probation and lose your notary license, but you won't spend five years in Bedford Hills Correctional.”

“And if I don't?” Vanessa trembled.

“If you don't,” Ethan replied, his voice dropping into a chilling whisper, “Julian’s defense attorney has already submitted a motion claiming that *you* were the mastermind who manipulated both him and his elderly mother into committing fraud. Julian is throwing you under the bus, Vanessa. He’s telling the D.A. that you forged the documents without his knowledge to steal the house for yourself.”

Vanessa gasped, a look of pure, murderous hatred flashing across her face. “That bastard! He swore he loved me!”

“In that family, Vanessa, love is a currency,” Ethan said, setting the receiver down on the shelf. “And you’re completely bankrupt.”

Ethan stood up and turned toward the exit.

Behind the glass, Vanessa frantically pounded on the window, screaming into the telephone receiver: “WAIT! I’LL TALK! I’LL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING! CALL THE PROSECUTOR! ETHAN!”