My husband locked me—seven months pregnant—outdoors and doused me with freezing cold water, finally forcing me to sign a document relinquishing my property rights. The moment I collapsed at his feet, a red warning signal suddenly flashed on my wrist and cameras swiveled in unison toward us, all while Diego remained completely unaware that, forty miles away, my father was watching everything unfold.

The tactical officer grabbed Diego by his collar and hauled him to his feet, holding his arms tightly pinned behind his back.

Diego was trembling uncontrollably. His nose was bleeding from the impact with the floor, his hair messy, his expensive designer clothes torn and covered in dust. The arrogance that had defined him at the dinner table three hours ago had vanished completely, replaced by the pathetic, sniveling terror of a cornered coward.

"Mr. Sterling... please!" Diego stammered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. "It was an accident! She... she fell near the pool! She was hysterical about the papers! I tried to help her—"

SLAP!

Alvin’s gloved hand struck Diego across the face with explosive force.

Diego’s head snapped sideways, a fresh stream of blood spurting from his lip as he let out a high-pitched cry of pain.

"Do not speak my daughter's name with your filthy mouth," Alvin said, his voice terrifyingly calm, vibrating with pure, concentrated fury.

Alvin pulled his encrypted phone from his coat pocket and held the screen two inches from Diego’s eyes.

On the screen, playing in a continuous, high-definition loop, was the live feed recorded by the thermal cameras fifty minutes ago:

Diego holding the water hose. The freezing water blasting against Vivian’s pregnant abdomen. Vivian collapsing onto the icy stone, convulsing in agony. Diego crossing his arms and watching her body go limp.

Diego’s eyes widened in horror. His blood ran colder than the mountain wind outside.

"You... you had cameras..." Diego whispered, his knees buckling beneath him.

"I had thermal medical telemetry, you pathetic worm," Alvin spat, stepping closer until his nose was inches from Diego’s bleeding face. "I built an empire while you were still trying to figure out how to steal your first dollar. Did you really think I would leave my pregnant daughter in the hands of a low-life leech like you without watching every breath she took?"

"Mr. Sterling, please!" Brenna screamed from the floor near the couch. "We didn't know! It was a mistake! We’ll sign whatever you want! We’ll surrender everything!"

Alvin didn't even look at her. "Marcus."

"Sir?"

"The local state police colonel is waiting at the gate," Alvin said coldly. "Hand this tape directly to the District Attorney. I want attempted capital murder charges filed against Diego Vance and Brenna Vance by six o'clock this morning. I want every asset, every bank account, every logistics shell company associated with their family frozen under the federal organized crime statutes."

"No... NO!" Diego screamed, tears streaming down his face as he realized what was happening. Everything he had worked for—his company, his reputation, his wealth, his freedom—was being erased in real-time. "You can't do this! I'm her husband!"

"As of twelve-forty-one AM," Alvin said, looking at his watch, "you are a federal inmate."

The flight medic knelt beside Vivian suddenly shouted, "WE HAVE A WEAK FETAL HEARTBEAT! CORE TEMP IS THIRTY-FOUR DEGREES AND RISING WITH THE THERMAL BLANKETS! WE NEED TO AIRLIFT HER TO THE TRAUMA CENTER IMMEDIATELY!"

Alvin turned his back on Diego as if the man no longer existed.

He walked beside the stretcher as the medics lifted Vivian’s body, securing her into the heated transport pod. He held her cold, blue fingers in his warm hand as they carried her through the ruined doorway and out toward the waiting helicopter.