The gravel crunched beneath shoes that were entirely too small for the solemnity of Brookside Memorial.

"Higgins, take the girls into the panic room behind the bookshelf. Now!" Richard commanded, his voice brooking no argument. He shoved the flash drive into his pocket, gripped his pistol with both hands, and took a defensive stance facing the nursery doorway.

"Mr. Blackwood—"

"Go!"

Higgins grabbed the girls, her face streaming with tears, bundling Lily, Chloe, and Mia into the narrow, reinforced steel alcove hidden behind the oversized white bookshelf. The heavy steel door clicked shut automatically, sealing them in absolute safety.

Richard stood alone in the center of the sunlit nursery, his back to the wall, his eyes fixed on the white-painted doorway.

The doorknob rattled. Then, the lock blew out in a shower of splintered wood and white paint as a breaching charge detonated with a muffled thud.

Smoke billowed into the room.

Through the haze, three figures in tactical gear stepped through the threshold, weapons raised. But behind them stepped a fourth man—a man wearing an expensive custom Brioni suit that looked entirely out of place amidst the smoke and destruction.

Marcus Vance.

His silver hair was meticulously combed, a smug, cold smile playing across his thin lips as he lowered his silk-lined trench coat.

"Well, well, Richard," Marcus purred, stepping over the splintered wood of the door frame. "Playing hero to the bitter end. I must admit, I didn't think you had it in you. For three years, you've been walking around like a ghost, mourning a wife you never truly understood."

Richard kept his Sig Sauer trained squarely on Marcus’s chest. His finger rested lightly on the trigger.

"You killed her, Marcus," Richard said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You and Victor. You cut her brakes."

"Business is ruthless, Richard," Marcus laughed softly, stepping further into the room, signaling his mercenaries to hold their fire. "Elizabeth was stubborn. She refused to sign over her father's pharmaceutical patents. She thought she could outsmart the board. So, we arranged a little traffic accident on Commonwealth Avenue. And honestly? It worked brilliantly. It broke you. You stopped paying attention to the board meetings, you signed off on every proxy vote we handed you, and we quietly gutted Blackwood Enterprises from the inside out."

"And the girls?" Richard asked, his eyes narrowing. "Were they part of the business plan too?"

"Ah, the little heirs," Marcus smiled, his eyes flicking toward the bookshelf. "Victor wants them disposed of. Cleanly. Because as long as those three little girls draw breath, they hold fifty-one percent of the voting stock through Elizabeth’s estate trust. Without them, the board owns everything. So... be a good father, Richard. Hand over the flash drive, step aside, and let my men take care of the loose ends. I'll make sure your death is ruled a tragic, grief-stricken suicide."

Marcus raised his hand, signaling the mercenaries to advance.

Richard didn't flinch. Instead, a cold, predatory smile crept across his lips.

"Marcus," Richard said softly. "Did you ever wonder why I had this private satellite uplink installed in the nursery?"

Marcus paused, his smile faltering slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"When Elizabeth's thumbprint unlocked that drive five minutes ago," Richard said, raising his left hand to show a blinking red LED light on his encrypted smartwatch, "it didn't just decrypt the files locally."

Richard pressed a single button on his watch.

Downstairs, the estate's massive public address system crackled to life, broadcasting the audio recording of Marcus confessing to Elizabeth's murder across the entire Beacon Hill courtyard—straight to the federal task force vehicles that had just breached the outer gates.