The sound of Eleanor Montgomery’s champagne glass shattering against the hand-carved Italian marble balcony echoed across the quieted lawn like a gunshot.

My blood ran colder than ice.

The idea of Eleanor Montgomery putting her filthy, controlling hands on my sons sent a wave of primal rage surging through my veins. I gripped the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles turned white.

"She wouldn't dare," I hissed, my voice deadly quiet. "I have enough security on that property to repel an army."

"You have guards, Claire," Richard said calmly. "Eleanor has forty years of corrupt judicial favors in the state of Illinois. A signed judge’s order bypasses private security. If the sheriff’s department shows up with a court order signed by Judge Harrison—a man whose entire legal career was funded by Eleanor’s late husband—your guards can't legally shoot. They will have to hand the children over while you fight a three-year legal battle to get them back."

I looked at Marcus. Marcus was already pulling out his phone, his face grave. "I'll double the detail at the Lake Forest house immediately."

"No," Richard interjected, standing up from his chair. "Doubling security just makes you look like you're hiding something. You need to strip Eleanor of her legal shield before she executes the order. And I have the knife to cut her throat... legally speaking."

"Why are you helping me, Richard?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes at him. "You're a Montgomery. Why side with the woman who just humiliated your family name?"

Richard’s face hardened, the polite smile vanishing, replaced by years of deep, unyielding hatred.

"Eleanor killed my wife," Richard said, his voice flat and terrifyingly cold. "Twenty-two years ago, when my wife was pregnant, Eleanor staged a financial scandal that bankrupt us, drove my wife into stress-induced heart failure, and stole my share of the family empire. She is a parasite who destroys anyone she cannot control. I promised myself I would watch her rot. You just opened the door. I'm here to push her through it."

Richard reached into his coat and pulled out a encrypted flash drive, tossing it onto my desk.

"On that drive are the bank records of the offshore trusts Eleanor used to bribe Judge Harrison three days ago," Richard said. "Along with the wire transfers showing she paid a rogue medical examiner to create fake psychiatric reports about you."

"This is enough to disbar Harrison and put Eleanor in federal prison for bribery," I realized, looking at the drive.

"It is," Richard agreed. "But you have to act fast. She knows the net is closing. The police order is set to be signed tonight at 8:00 PM. They will move on your Lake Forest home at dawn tomorrow."

"Then we don't wait for dawn," I said, a cruel smile forming on my lips. "Marcus, prepare the cars. We're going to pay Judge Harrison a late-night visit."

Three hours later. 7:30 PM.

A torrential downpour hit Chicago. Thunder rattled the windows of Judge Harrison's luxury penthouse in Gold Coast.

The corruption-ridden judge sat in his study, a glass of scotch in one hand, pen in the other, about to place his signature on the legal document that would grant Eleanor Montgomery emergency custody of my sons.

Suddenly, the lights in his penthouse flickered and died.

before Harrison could stand up from his desk, the heavy mahogany doors of his study were kicked off their hinges with a deafening CRACK.

Marcus and three armed guards swept into the room, securing the perimeter in seconds. I stepped through the ruined doorway, wearing a black trench coat, my hair damp from the rain, looking like the reaper coming to collect a debt.

"Judge Harrison," I said softly, stepping into the dim light of the emergency lighting. "Put the pen down."

Harrison panicked, grabbing for his desk phone. "What is the meaning of this?! Intruders! I’m calling the federal marshals!"

"Go ahead," I said, dropping the flash drive Richard had given me onto his desk, right over the custody papers. "Tell them to check the three million dollars transferred from Eleanor Montgomery’s Cayman account into your daughter's offshore trust last Thursday."

Harrison froze. His hand hovered over the receiver, his eyes bugging out in absolute horror.

"You... how did you..."

"You sign that order," I leaned over his desk, my voice a deadly whisper, "and those financial records are emailed directly to the FBI and the Department of Justice in ten seconds. You won't just lose your bench, Harrison. You will die in a federal penitentiary."

Harrison’s hands began to shake violently. He dropped the pen. He looked at the custody order, then looked at me. "She... Eleanor promised me... she said you were just a nobody..."

"Everyone makes that mistake," I replied coldly. "Now, tear up that paper. And call Eleanor. Tell her the order was granted."