Five years after I buri:ed my husband, I visited a colleague and stepped into a bright nursery—only to see Daniel Mercer standing there alive. The man I had mourned was holding a baby bottle, while my mother-in-law fussed over another woman and her newborn like this was a normal family scene. Daniel looked at me, turned white, and dropped the bottle onto the floor. That was when I understood the coffin had been empty. Before nightfall, the lie that protected his entire family would destroy them all.

Panic surged through my chest, but my training kicked in instantly.

I knew how fast search warrants were executed in financial crime cases.

They did not have one yet.

This was an illegal sweep, or worse, dirty cops working for Marcus.

I shoved the most crucial documents into a waterproof duffel bag.

"Elena Mercer, open the door now!" the voice demanded, accompanied by the heavy thud of a battering ram.

I sprinted toward the fire escape in my bedroom.

I unlatched the window and slipped out onto the rusted metal grating just as my front door splintered open.

Heavy boots stormed into my living room.

I climbed up, not down, heading for the roof.

Rain began to fall, making the iron rungs slick and treacherous.

I hauled myself over the parapet and crouched behind an air conditioning unit.

Two men in tactical gear stepped out onto the fire escape below.

"She went down to the alley," one of them yelled.

I waited until their footsteps faded before moving across the rooftops.

I jumped the narrow gap to the neighboring building and found an unlocked access door.

I hurried down the stairwell, emerging onto a different street two blocks over.

I needed a car, but mine was undoubtedly compromised.

I pulled out my burner phone, a habit left over from my undercover days.

I dialed the only person I could trust.

"Miller," the gruff voice answered on the third ring.

"It is Elena," I whispered, pressing myself into the shadows of an alleyway.

"I need an extraction, and I need you to pull the old Mercer case files."

There was a long pause on the line.

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

"I cannot do that, Elena," Detective Miller said quietly.

"Because they are paying me too, and I am looking right at you from across the street."

Chapter 4 - The Escape