Ethan dropped his glass.

It shattered on the tile floor, water splashing over his leather loafers.

I walked straight past Margaret and stood beside Emily’s bed.

I took my daughter’s cold hand in mine.

“It’s over, Emily,” I whispered.

The lead federal agent entered the room, followed by three others.

“Ethan Prescott?” the agent asked, looking directly at him.

“Who the hell are you?” Ethan demanded, his voice cracking. “Get out of here. Do you know who my family is?”

The agent pulled a folded paper from her jacket pocket.

“I am Special Agent Carter, FBI,” she said. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”

“On what charges?” Margaret demanded, stepping between the agent and her son. “This is a harassment campaign. My lawyers will have your badges by nightfall.”

“The charge is first-degree murder,” Agent Carter said calmly.

Ethan’s face drained of all color, turning a dull shade of gray.

“Murder?” Ethan whispered. “That’s ridiculous. Who?”

“Marcus Vance,” Agent Carter said.

The name hung in the quiet room, heavy and cold.

Marcus Vance had been the chief financial officer for the Prescott Group who disappeared two years ago.