*Your husband didn’t just let you go, Clara. He paid for the ticket.*

I stared at the glowing text on my phone screen.

The SUV bounced violently as we hit another stretch of wet pavement, but my hands remained perfectly still.

“Your husband didn’t just let you go, Clara. He paid for the ticket.”

My chest tightened as I read the words again.

I pressed the call button for my investigator, Marcus.

“I need a trace on the email sender,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

“I’m already on it, Clara,” Marcus replied over the speaker. “But you need to hear this first. I just tapped the internal security system at the Lake Geneva estate. Garrett just walked into his mother’s study.”

“Put me through,” I ordered.

A sharp burst of static filled the car, followed by the sound of heavy rain drumming against glass.

Then, the heavy oak door of Vivian Bradford’s study slammed shut.

“Where is it, Mother?” Garrett’s voice was raw, stripped of his usual aristocratic composure.

“Garrett, control yourself,” Vivian replied, her tone icy and dry. “You are dripping water all over the Persian rug.”