“Please,” he whispered one last time.

I turned away from him and picked up my wine glass.

“Marcus, please show Mr. and Mrs. Ralston back to their table,” I said.

Marcus stepped between us, his large frame completely cutting off their view of me.

“Right this way, sir, ma’am,” Marcus said, his voice firm and unyielding.

I watched them walk back down the steps of the dais.

They looked small, defeated, and entirely out of place among the glittering crowd of Dallas’s elite.

My phone buzzed on the white tablecloth.

I picked it up.

It was an encrypted message from my legal team’s private investigator.

*The district attorney’s office just received the secondary ledger. They are signing the warrants tonight.*

I stared at the screen, my heart beating with a steady, quiet rhythm.

The heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom suddenly swung open.

Two men in dark suits stepped inside, their eyes scanning the room.

The two men walked with a measured, deliberate pace toward the dais.

They wore gray overcoats and had gold shields clipped to their belts.