The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed incessantly. It was a sterile, indifferent hum that seemed to mock the chaos inside Clara’s mind.

Elena knew going to the police was useless; Marcus owned half the precinct. If she wanted to end this, she had to cut the head off the snake in front of an audience he couldn't control.

The next evening, Marcus was hosting the annual Sterling Foundation Charity Gala at the Plaza Hotel. It was a massive media event, swarming with senators, judges, and press.

Elena slipped through the kitchen loading docks. She stole a catering uniform, her heart hammering against her ribs, ignoring the agonizing pain in her collarbone. She grabbed a silver tray of champagne flutes and walked directly into the grand ballroom.

The room was a sea of diamonds and silk. And standing on the grand stage, looking like a king, was Marcus.

"My friends," Marcus spoke into the microphone, his voice dripping with faux sorrow. "This year has been difficult. The tragic accident involving my estranged wife has reminded me of the fragility of life, and the importance of family."