Shadows lengthened across the vaulted ceilings as the golden afternoon light faded into a bruised evening sky.
Mara clutched the leather folder to her chest, her fingers pressing against the hidden digital recorder tucked inside her coat pocket.
Mara: (Quiet voice) Every word... every threat... caught on high-definition audio.
Susan: (Whispering from behind the pillar) Mara... are you still breathing? Can you move?
Mara: (Gasping) Susan? I thought Ethan threatened you into silence...
Susan: He did. But I sent the livestream feed straight to my husband's federal prosecutor friend in downtown Manhattan.
Mara: Federal prosecutor? Susan, if Ethan finds out—
Susan: Ethan is too busy celebrating his corporate merger to notice anything else. Can you stand up?
Mara tried to shift her weight, but a sharp wave of pain shot through her lower back, forcing a muffled cry from her lips.
Mara: My leg... I think my ankle is sprained from the fall.
Susan: Hold onto my shoulder. We are getting you out of this luxury prison right now.
Across the foyer, the heavy double doors swung open, revealing two uniformed police officers and a federal marshal.
Federal Marshal: Nobody move! Stay exactly where you are!
Ethan froze mid-sentence, his wine glass slipping from his hand and shattering against the marble tiles.
Ethan: What is the meaning of this intrusion? Who called the authorities to my property?!
Federal Marshal: Ethan Sterling, you are under arrest for domestic assault, coercion, and financial fraud.
Will the arrogant billionaire finally realize that no amount of money can buy immunity from federal law?