The kitchen in my own home had turned into a sweltering, chaotic trap.

Eleanor’s face drained of color, her manicured hand dropping from the back of my chair. She looked at the papers, her eyes darting across the highlighted lines of illicit transfers. She knew exactly what she was looking at. The arrogance that had fueled her assault moments ago evaporated, replaced by the cold, hard realization of impending ruin.

“I’ve already sent a digital copy to the federal authorities,” I continued, my gaze never leaving David’s terrified expression. “The investigation begins tomorrow morning. By the time the baby is born, you won’t be worried about how I sit at a dinner table. You’ll be worried about how many years you’ll be spending in a federal facility.”

David stood up, his chair screeching against the hardwood floor. “Clara, you’re bluffing! You wouldn’t do this to us! We’re family!”