The digital document glowing on Maya’s old phone wasn't just a legal file; it was an execution order.

Carter Lane Logistics was not only safe; it was stronger than ever. With Marcus Vance’s forensic team auditing the books, we discovered that Julian and my mother had tried to siphon funds from several defunct shell companies—ventures that pointed directly back to an old financial scandal involving my mother’s side of the family years ago.

The federal prosecutor wasted no time filing formal indictments. Bail was denied due to flight risk, meaning both of them were currently residing in separate holding facilities awaiting a very brief, very one-sided trial.

On a quiet Saturday afternoon, the nursery was finally finished.

The walls were painted a soft, calming sage green. A custom crib sat against the far wall, flanked by shelves filled with children’s books and framed ultrasound photos.

I stood by the window, assembling a rocking chair, when I heard soft footsteps behind me.

Maya walked in, wearing a loose floral dress, her hands resting comfortably on her prominent nine-month belly. She looked radiant—no longer weighed down by the invisible chains of fear and isolation that had haunted her while I was away.

“How’s the master carpenter doing?” she teased softly, leaning against the doorframe.

I put down the wrench, stood up, and walked over to her, wrapping my hands around her waist and pressing my ear gently against her stomach.

A second later, our son gave a vigorous, undeniable kick against my cheek.

I laughed, looking up at her with a grin. “Future defensive lineman, I guarantee it. He’s got your stubborn streak.”

“He’s got your tactical stubbornness,” Maya corrected, smiling warmly as she ran her fingers through my hair. “Though I think we’ve had enough military operations for one lifetime.”

“Agreed,” I said, standing up and pulling her into a slow, gentle embrace. “From here on out, our only mission is keeping this house safe, peaceful, and entirely our own.”