The evidence was absolute, a paper trail of greed and murder that no high-priced defense attorney could dismantle.

Tomorrow, the custody hearing would be broadcast nationally, a public exposure of the Caldwell family’s darkest secrets.

I stared at the files, knowing this was only the beginning of the final battle.

My phone, resting on the table, began to vibrate.

The screen lit up with an unknown number, the caller ID blocked.

I picked it up, my fingers cold against the glass, and pressed it to my ear.

“Elena,” Vanessa’s voice said, cold and sharp as ice through the receiver.

“It is over, Vanessa,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone.

“You think you have won because you got those miserable girls out of the house,” she sneered.

“I have the forensic files,” I replied, looking down at the laptop screen.

“You have nothing but speculation and stolen documents,” she said, her voice dropping to a low hiss.

“We will let the judge decide that tomorrow morning,” I said, and hung up.

The next morning, the sun did not break through the gray, heavy clouds over Aspen.