MY HUSBAND SLAPPED ME AND HIS MOTHER KICKED ME OUT OF "HIS" MANSION—THEY DIDN’T KNOW I OWNED IT ALL AND CAUGHT EVERYTHING ON CAMERA

At 2:00 AM, the industrial storage facility was a silent, echoing concrete cavern. I bypassed the automated security gates using my CEO credentials and drove my SUV straight up to Unit 402.

I rolled up the heavy metal door, flicking on the harsh fluorescent overhead lights. The unit was packed with discarded remnants of my past life—antique furniture, heavy drapes, and leaning against the far wall, wrapped in thick moving blankets, were the slabs of the black marble fireplace.

I walked over, grabbed a heavy steel crowbar from the trunk of my car, and pulled the blankets away.

The marble was cold and heavy. I ran my hands along the edges of the mantelpiece, searching for seams, for hollow points, for anything that didn't belong. I pressed my ear against the stone and tapped the crowbar along the surface.

Clink. Clink. Thud.

My heart skipped a beat. The sound was deadened. Hollow.

I raised the heavy steel crowbar above my head and brought it crashing down onto the center of the mantelpiece. The impact sent a violent shockwave up my arms. The black marble cracked, spider-webbing outward. I swung again, screaming as I brought the steel down with all the suppressed rage of my broken marriage.

The marble shattered, sending sharp shards cascading onto the concrete floor.

I dropped the crowbar, breathing heavily, the cold air stinging my lungs. I reached into the jagged, hollowed-out cavity in the center of the stone.

My fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.

I pulled it out. It was a small, heavy, waterproof titanium case. My hands trembled as I popped the latches. Inside, resting on a bed of custom foam, was a sleek, black encrypted solid-state drive.

Daniel’s fifty-million-dollar insurance policy.

I held the drive in my hand, staring at the flashing security LED. This was the key to destroying the cartel, the key to ensuring Daniel rotted in federal prison forever, and the literal target on my son's back.

I didn't call the police. I didn't call Jessica.

I drove straight to the home of a private cyber-security specialist I kept on retainer for my design firm. His name was Julian. He was a former military intelligence officer who specialized in digital forensics, a man who possessed a quiet, terrifying competence and absolute loyalty.

I slammed the titanium case onto Julian’s kitchen table at 4:00 AM.