The coffee cup didn’t just tremble in Jack’s hand; it slipped from his fingers and shattered against the polished hardwood floor, splashing dark roast over his spotless leather shoes.

Jack was standing at the mid-landing of the stairs.

He wasn't wearing his designer suit or his pristine white dress shirt. He was dressed in dark jeans and a plain black jacket. His face was bruised, his eyes bloodshot and sunken, carrying the manic, unhinged look of a predator who had lost everything and had nothing left to lose.

"How are you here?!" I gasped, backing up until my heels hit the edge of the concrete patch. "The FBI arrested you!"

"High-priced lawyers are a wonderful thing, Claire," Jack said smoothly, taking another step down. "My uncle posted a two-million-dollar emergency bond two hours ago. I surrendered my passport, of course... but I didn't need a passport to come find my loving wife."

"Stay back, Jack!" I yelled, pulling my phone from my pocket. "The police know where I am! They're on their way!"

Jack laughed—a dry, terrifying sound that rattled through the damp basement. "Don't lie to me, Claire. You came here alone. You wanted to play detective all by yourself. You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

He reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the dim light. In his right hand, he held a heavy steel crowbar he had grabbed from the upstairs porch.

"Seven years ago, Evelyn stood right where you’re standing," Jack said softly, looking down at the concrete patch beneath my feet. "She found out about a little transaction I made. She threatened to go to the authorities. She thought she was so brave."

He looked up at me, his eyes dead. "Do you know what happens to brave women, Claire?"

"You're a monster," I spat, my voice shaking with fury as I gripped my heavy flashlight like a weapon. "Both you and your sick mother!"

"My mother protected me!" Jack roared, his calm facade shattering in a second as he slammed the steel crowbar against a wooden support pillar. "She built me! And you destroyed her! You put her in a cell! You destroyed my career! My reputation! My life!"

"You destroyed yourself, Jack!" I shouted back. "You hit me! You stole millions! You murdered your first wife!"

"And now..." Jack whispered, taking a slow, menacing step toward me, "I’m going to make sure my wives are finally reunited."

He raised the crowbar and lunged at me.

I didn't scream. I swung the heavy steel flashlight with all the strength left in my body, striking him directly across his jaw—the exact same spot where he had hit me three nights ago.

CRACK.

Jack stumbled backward with a grunt of pain, clutching his bleeding face.

"That was for my lip," I hissed.

Before he could recover, I sprinted past him toward the stairs. But Jack was fast. He reached out, grabbing my ankle, tearing my sneaker right off my foot.