The metallic click of handcuffs echoing through the vaulted ceiling of the chapel was the sweetest sound I had heard since my world died.

"Oh, Clara," Evelyn smiled, a terrifyingly serene expression. "You poor, broken, grieving mother. Everyone knows how unstable you’ve been since the accident. You couldn't bear the shame of your husband's arrest. You came to the guesthouse, set fire to his belongings in a manic episode, and perished in the flames. A tragic suicide."

She flicked a silver Zippo lighter open with her left hand, letting the flame dance in the dim light. Behind her, on the landing, I smelled the sharp, unmistakable stench of gasoline. She had already doused the hallway.

"Hand over the book," she repeated.

"Come and take it," I spat.

In one motion, I hurled the heavy iron safe-door handle—which had broken off during my search—straight at her face.

CLANG!

It struck her shoulder. Evelyn cried out, her shot pulled wide. POP! The suppressed gunshot shattered the mirror beside me.

She dropped the lighter. The gasoline-soaked hallway ignited instantly with a deafening ROAR! A wall of fire exploded between us.

Evelyn stumbled back into the smoke, coughing, while the flames devoured the doorframe, cutting off my escape to the stairs. The fire spread with terrifying speed, feeding on the dry wooden paneling of the old guesthouse.

Smoke filled my lungs. I coughed violently, eyes burning, backing up against the window.

I looked down. It was a fifteen-foot drop to the stone patio below.

Behind me, the flames were licking at the foot of the bed. I wrapped my hand in the heavy velvet window curtains, used my feet to kick out the glass window frame, and threw myself out into the storm.

CRASH!

I fell through the rain, the curtain tearing under my weight, breaking my fall slightly before I slammed onto the wet stone patio. Pain exploded through my left ankle. I lay there for a moment, gasping for air, the rain pouring down on my face as the second floor of the guesthouse exploded into a inferno above me.

Through the blazing windows, I saw a figure moving—Evelyn, staggering toward the back fire escape. She was escaping.

I pushed through the blinding pain in my ankle, grabbed the black leather notebook from inside my jacket where I had tucked it, and began crawling toward the garden gate.

I couldn't go back to my car. Evelyn’s associates might be waiting.

Just as I reached the edge of the driveway, a dark tinted SUV screeched to a halt beside me. The passenger door opened.

"Get in! Now!" a voice barked from the dark interior.

I scrambled backward, pulling a sharp piece of broken glass from my pocket. "Who are you?"

"I'm the person who sent the email to Silas's computer," the man said. He leaned into the light. He was in his late fifties, with graying hair, a scarred jawline, and eyes like flint. He held out a badge.

Special Agent Marcus Kane, Federal Bureau of Investigation—Financial Crimes Division.

"You... you sent the warning?" I gasped.

"I tried to warn him to back off so I could track his boss," Kane said urgently. "We’ve been investigating Senator Vance for three years. Silas was our small fish, but you just turned his world upside down at that funeral. Get in the damn car, Clara! Evelyn’s men are coming!"

I looked back at the burning guesthouse, then at Agent Kane. I climbed into the SUV, slamming the door just as two black sedans pulled up to the estate gates, their headlights cutting through the heavy rain.

Kane slammed on the accelerator, tires screeching as we tore into the night.

"You knew about Vance?" I demanded, clutching my injured ankle as the SUV sped down the highway.

"We knew Vance was using Silas’s firm to launder political bribes," Kane said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. "What we didn't know until twenty minutes ago was how far they were willing to go to seize your land. We monitored the wire transfers, but we missed the life insurance policy alterations until your attorney contacted Detective Miller."

"They killed my children, Agent Kane," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Not just Silas. Evelyn was there. She admitted it. Senator Vance gave the order."

"I know," Kane said heavily. "And right now, Silas is sitting in a county jail cell thinking he's going to take the fall for everything while Vance and Evelyn walk away clean."

"Then we make him talk," I said.

Kane smirked slightly, a cold, humorless expression. "He won't talk to us. He thinks Vance has enough political power to pull strings and get the charges dropped. He’s loyal out of fear."

"He's not loyal," I corrected him, pulling out the singed black notebook and tossing it onto the console between us. "He’s selfish. He thinks he's the smartest man in the room. Show him this ledger, show him that Evelyn threw him to the wolves, and he’ll sing like a bird."

Kane picked up the notebook, flipping through the pages. His eyes widened as he saw the handwritten notes detailing Senator Vance's direct instructions to 'remove the obstacle.'

"This... this is the silver bullet," Kane breathed. "This directly connects the Senator to the conspiracy to commit murder."

"No," I said, looking out at the rain-streaked window as my mind spun calculatingly ahead. "It’s not enough. Vance has high-priced lawyers who will claim Silas forged those notes to frame him. If we want to destroy Vance, we need Silas to testify live, on camera, under oath, before Vance realizes we have this ledger."

"How do you propose we do that?" Kane asked.