I replaced the lubricant in my husband’s bag with industrial glue after I caught him with my brother’s wife. At 2:00 a.m., the hospital called. “Mrs. Rollins, we can’t separate the two of them.” I arrived carrying six months’ worth of evidence in a folder tucked under my arm, but what I found inside his safe turned that affair into something far more serious.

The plan was set in motion with surgical precision.

Maya agreed to meet Julian Sterling’s courier at an abandoned industrial rail depot north of Denver—a desolate transfer point Arthur’s syndicate used to move unmonitored contraband away from city cameras.

The air was bitterly cold, hovering near freezing as wind whipped through the rusted iron skeletons of old train cars.

Vincent had coordinated with an elite tactical unit from the Colorado State Patrol and federal agents who were staged two miles away, waiting for our confirmation of the physical ledgers before moving in. We couldn't strike too early; if the ledgers weren't in plain sight, Arthur’s high-priced lawyers would argue entrapment.

I stood behind the rusted corner of a freight container, wearing a dark thermal jacket and watching the headlights of two black sedans illuminate the gravel yard.

A sleek black Mercedes arrived, followed closely by a heavy transport van.

Julian Sterling stepped out of the Mercedes. He was an elderly, impeccably dressed attorney carrying a reinforced titanium briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.

Behind him, two armed enforcers stood guard.

Then, to my complete horror, the door of the transport van slid open.

Arthur Vance stepped out. But he wasn't alone.

His men dragged a gagged, struggling woman from the van.

It was Elena.

Justin gasped beside me, his entire body tensing to charge forward. I clamped my hand down on his forearm with all my strength.

"Justin, wait!" I whispered frantically. "If you run out there right now, they will shoot her."

"How did they find the safehouse?" Justin choked out, tears of fury filling his eyes.

"They didn't," Vincent whispered grimly, checking his monitors. "Elena must have tried to contact her family when she saw the news about our car crash on the highway. Arthur’s wiretaps caught the outgoing ping."

Arthur walked toward the center of the railyard, where Maya stood trembling near a rusted freight track.

"Where is the girl, Maya?" Arthur called out, his booming voice echoing off the metal boxcars. "You didn't really think I believed you were working alone, did you?"

Maya backed away, her hands raised. "I don't know what you're talking about, Arthur. I came for the courier payment."

"You came as a decoy for Sabrina Rollins," Arthur sneered, pulling a revolver from his coat and aiming it directly at Elena’s temple. "Sabrina! I know you're hiding in these shadows. Come out with your hands up, or I paint these train tracks with your brother's future bride."

Justin looked at me, his eyes pleading. There was no more time for tactics.