My husband and I ended our marriage after thirty-six years together. Then, at his funeral, his father drank too much, leaned toward me, and whispered something that made me question everything I thought I knew.

I froze on the floor of the morgue, terrified to even turn my head.

A rough hand grabbed the collar of my dress and dragged me roughly to my feet.

It was the corrupt detective from the police precinct, sporting a massive red chemical burn across his face.

He snatched the titanium briefcase from the metal table, expecting to find stacks of cash inside.

When he saw nothing but passports and a tablet, he cursed violently and pressed his gun against my temple.

He demanded to know where the two million dollars was hidden.

I swore to him that I had no idea and that Troy had never told me where the money was.

The detective laughed bitterly, explaining that he worked for the syndicate as a local fixer.

He told me to think very carefully, because my son's life depended on my memory.

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to recall every conversation Troy and I ever had about finances.

I remembered the early days when he tried to explain the missing money from our joint account.

He had repeatedly claimed the funds were needed for structural repairs in the basement of our old family home.

We had sold that house during the divorce, but the new buyers were not scheduled to move in for another month.

I looked the corrupt detective in the eyes and lied with absolute conviction.

I told him I knew exactly where the money was, but it was locked in a biometric floor safe that only I could open.

The detective sneered, shoved his gun into my back, and ordered me to take him there.

We drove to the vacant family home under the cover of darkness.

The house felt eerie and abandoned, stripped of all the warmth we had once created there.

I led the detective down the creaking wooden stairs into the damp, unfinished basement.

I pointed to a specific section of the concrete wall that looked slightly newer than the rest.

The detective stepped forward, his greed completely overriding his tactical training.

He aimed his flashlight at the wall, searching for a hidden keypad or scanner.

I quietly grabbed a heavy iron fireplace poker resting near the basement stairs.

I swung it with every ounce of strength I had, striking the detective squarely in the back of the head.

The Billionaire Put On a Waiter’s Apron to Test His Fiancée, but the Wom...

My father bet twenty dollars that I would walk through his front door al...

My Husband Slapped Me Out of His House for His Mistress, Then the Most F...

He collapsed to the floor instantly, out cold before he even knew what happened.

I dropped the iron poker, only to see a bright red laser dot appear directly on my chest.

Chapter 6 - The Ransom Demand