AT MY HUSBAND’S 25TH ANNIVERSARY GALA, HIS MISTRESS AUCTIONED MY DEAD MOTHER’S LAST QUILT

“Sterling?” I choked out, raising my hands. “What are you doing?”

The man who had arrested William smiled. It wasn't the reassuring smile of an FBI agent. It was the cold, dead smile of a corporate cleaner.

“There is no Agent Sterling, Laura,” he said, walking slowly toward me. “My name is Trent. I work for the pharmaceutical conglomerate William was trying to sell his patent to. We knew he was embezzling. We knew the clinical trial data on your mother was faked. But the patent is still worth billions.”

My mind raced. “You arrested him at the store.”

“I secured him at the store,” Trent corrected. “Those cops were private security contractors. William isn't in a jail cell. He’s on a private jet to Zurich, just like he planned. He handed over the patent rights in exchange for his freedom.”

“But the ledger,” I said, panic gripping my chest. “The evidence.”

“Burned,” Trent said simply. “Just like this storage unit is about to be. And unfortunately, Mrs. Carter, you were caught in the tragic fire.”

He raised the gun.

I looked around frantically. I was cornered. The hallway was empty.

I thought of Grace, sleeping on the couch under the quilt. I had promised her we were safe.

I reached into my coat pocket. My fingers brushed against the heavy silver pocket watch.

“Wait,” I said, my voice trembling. “You burned the ledger. But you don't have the primary offshore account numbers. William doesn't have them either. My mother hid them.”

Trent paused, his finger resting on the trigger. “Where?”

I pulled the silver watch out of my pocket.

“In the lining of this casing,” I lied. “If you kill me, you’ll never find the master account.”

Trent stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the silver watch.

“Give it to me,” he demanded.

I held it out. As he reached for it, I pressed the release latch.

The heavy silver casing popped open.

But instead of handing it to him, I hurled it directly into his face with all my strength.

The heavy metal struck him perfectly on the bridge of his nose. He cried out in pain, dropping the gun as he stumbled backward.

I didn't hesitate. I kicked the gun down the hallway and sprinted for the stairs.

I burst through the fire doors and ran out into the parking lot. I jumped into my car, locked the doors, and slammed on the gas, tearing out of the facility before Trent could recover.

My phone rang. It was Arthur.

“Laura, where are you?” he asked urgently.

“Call the real police, Arthur!” I screamed, weaving through the morning traffic. “The FBI agent was fake! William is going to the airport!”

“Laura, listen to me!” Arthur shouted over the speaker. “The real police are already here. Vance called them. They grounded all flights at Midway.”

I hit the brakes, pulling over to the side of the road, gasping for breath.