The mistress arrived at the gala on my husband's arm, wearing my dress and my late grandmother's bracelet. Everyone called her "Mrs. Albright," while I woke up drugged at home. My son took the microphone in front of 300 guests and said, "Now you can support my father yourself." But they still had no idea about the 68-million-dollars file waiting to be opened.

I stared down the dark barrel of the federal agent's weapon in absolute, paralyzing shock and disbelief. Agent Carter smirked maliciously and confiscated my cell phone, tossing it casually out the moving window. He admitted proudly that he had been working for Christopher's cartel contacts since the very beginning of the investigation. The government pardon was a complete lie fabricated to legally force me into giving up the billion dollar company. Carter started the engine and drove us away from the police barricade toward the desolate shipping yard. He told me I was going to sign the corporate transfer documents, and then we would all tragically die. He planned to stage a massive warehouse fire to erase all evidence of his deep corruption and betrayal. I realized I had absolutely no one left in the world to rely on but my own inner strength. As Carter slowed down to navigate a sharp turn, I unbuckled my seatbelt in a split second of bravery. I threw my entire body weight across the center console, violently grabbing the steering wheel from his hands. The heavy federal vehicle swerved recklessly off the road and crashed headfirst into a thick wooden utility pole. The sudden, violent impact smashed Carter's head against the side window, knocking him completely unconscious instantly. I ignored the blinding pain in my bruised ribs and crawled out of the smoking, ruined federal vehicle. I stripped the corrupt agent of his tactical weapons, taking his heavy pistol and several extra ammunition magazines. I was no longer just a wealthy corporate executive, I was a desperate mother going to absolute war. I marched boldly through the darkness toward the towering metal crates of the abandoned coastal shipping yard. The cold ocean wind whipped fiercely through my hair as I spotted the heavily guarded warehouse in the center. Four armed cartel mercenaries were actively patrolling the perimeter with highly aggressive and trained guard dogs. I knew I could not simply shoot my way through a small, elite army of trained killers all alone. Suddenly, the entire shipping yard went completely dark as the main power grid catastrophically and unexpectedly failed.