Chapter 1 - THE FORENSIC REVENGE BEGINSThe air in the hospital corridor turned sub-zero the moment I uttered those words.
Brandon blinked, his polished composure slipping for a fraction of a second. His handsome face twitched, revealing the monster underneath the tailored suit. Behind him, Victoria snapped her designer handkerchief between her fingers, her blue eyes narrowing into lethal slits.
"Excuse me, Helen?" Brandon stepped closer, trying to use his height to intimidate me. "You’re in shock. Your daughter is hysterical, and you're clearly out of your depth. Move aside so I can take my wife home."
"Touch her again, Brandon, and the next thing you touch will be the bars of a federal prison cell," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
I didn't yell. I didn't cry. The small-town bakery owner who baked apple pies had vanished. In her place stood Helen Vance—the woman who had put three state senators and a cartel accountant behind bars before turning forty.
Victoria let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "A cupcake baker threatening the Holloway family? How quaint. Brandon, call security. Have this crazy woman escorted off the premises."
"Try it," I replied, pulling my phone from my coat along with the tiny, sealed glass vial containing Emily’s blood. "Because while you were standing here rehearsing your grief, I had Dr. Patel log this sample directly into the state forensic registry. And five minutes ago, I sent an encrypted digital package to Arthur Pendelton."
Brandon’s face lost every drop of color.
Arthur Pendelton was the Chief Prosecutor for the Financial Crimes Division—and my former partner.
"You're bluffing," Brandon whispered, though his sweat-slicked forehead betrayed him.
"Test me," I said, leaning in so only he could hear. "I know about the $14 million offshore account in the Cayman Islands under 'Holloway Logistics LLC.' I know the deadline to cover the cash gap is 9:00 AM tomorrow. And I know Emily’s trust fund was the only asset left standing between you and a bullet from the Russian syndicate you borrowed from."
Brandon took an instinctive step back, looking at me as if I had suddenly turned into a ghost.
"Mom..." Emily sobbed from the hospital bed, her voice trembling. "What is he talking about?"
"It means, my sweet girl, that you were never just his wife," I said, keeping my eyes locked on Brandon. "You were his sacrificial lamb."
Victoria stepped forward, her voice dropping into a venomous whisper. "You think you can destroy us, Helen? We own the police in this town. We own the judges. You have a dusty little bakery and a broken daughter."
"Then you'd better hope your money can buy you a good defense attorney, Victoria," I said, stepping back to grab the handle of Emily’s wheelchair. "Because I don't just have a bakery. I have twenty-two years of dark secrets, and tonight, I start baking a firestorm."
May you like
Without another word, I wheeled my battered daughter out of the hospital, leaving the great Holloway family frozen in terror in the middle of the hallway.
The war had officially begun.
