“No,” I smiled, the sharpest, coldest smile of my life. “I called
my father’s old department. They’ve been waiting twenty-eight years to finish this conversation.”
He lunged toward the desk—whether for a weapon or the blue folder, I didn’t care.
I didn’t need to shoot.
The front door burst open with a deafening crash.
“POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!”
Armed officers flooded the room, throwing Lucas to the floor before he could even scream. His face was pressed hard against the dusty hardwood, his arms twisted behind his back as the handcuffs clicked into place.
I lowered the gun slowly as an officer took it gently from my hands.
Lucas turned his head, staring up at me from the floor. The charismatic, untouchable man was completely gone. In his place was just a small, pathetic coward caught in his own trap.
“Anne…” he choked out, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “Please…”
I didn’t answer him.
I didn’t grant him a single
extra word.
I walked over to Melanie, pulled a small pocket knife from my bag, and sliced the ropes binding her wrists. She collapsed forward, sobbing, clutching her stomach, and thanked me over and over again.
I patted her shoulder softly, stepped over the charred remains of the blue folder on the floor, and walked out the front door into the cool desert night.
Three months later.
The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my new townhome overlooking the Denver skyline.
The air was fresh, crisp, and quiet.
On the kitchen counter sat a freshly signed decree of divorce, alongside court orders fully freezing Lucas’s assets and restoring every single cent of my $720,000 inheritance.
Thanks to the original case files Miriam kept, combined with evidence found buried on the Laurel House property in Colorado, Lucas was officially charged with first-degree murder, fraud, and grand larceny. He
would spend the rest of his natural life behind bars.
My phone chimed on the counter.
A text from Grace: Melanie had a healthy baby girl this morning. Thank you for saving them both.
