My parents kicked me and my six-year-old son out of the car at 2 AM on a freezing desert highway with nowhere to go. My mother smiled as the taillights disappeared into the darkness, while my father acted like we no longer existed. They thought they had ended our story that night. They couldn't have been more wrong...

The next day, Maya and I were placed in a safe house. The state had assigned us a cutthroat prosecuting attorney named Marcus Vance. Marcus didn't just want to put my parents away; he wanted to know why they did it.

We sat in a sterile conference room as Marcus slid a thick folder across the table.

“People don’t do this just because they are cruel, Sarah,” Marcus said, tapping the folder. “They do it for money.”

I frowned. “I don't have any money. I’m a single mother working retail.”

“You don't have money, but your late grandfather did,” Marcus corrected. “He left a massive trust fund for you and Maya. Four million dollars. But the trust had a specific clause: if you passed away, the money reverted to your parents as your next of kin.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“They stole your phone and wallet so you couldn't call for help,” Marcus continued, his eyes dark with disgust. “They dumped you in sub-zero temperatures, assuming the elements would do the dirty work. They were going to collect your life insurance and your inheritance in one clean sweep.”