At my two sons’ funeral, my wealthy mother-in-law slapped me in front of everyone and whispered: “You’re next.”

"Boss, we caught a rat trying to sneak in the back," one of the Russian guards grunted, dragging a bloody, battered figure into the study and throwing him onto the hardwood floor.

It was Trevor.

He was covered in snow, his face swollen and bleeding heavily from a fresh cut above his eye. He had followed me. The coward had tracked my car through the blizzard, desperately hoping to steal the money to save his own life.

"Claire!" Trevor gasped, looking up at me in absolute terror as the Russian guns aimed at his head. "Help me!"

Sokolov looked down at my ex-husband with profound disgust. "Is this pathetic creature part of your negotiation, Mrs. Whitmore?"

"No," I stated coldly, not moving a muscle. "He means absolutely nothing to me."

Trevor let out a broken sob, crawling backward away from the guards. "Claire, please! They'll kill me! I’m the father of your child!"

"You stood by while your mother murdered my sons," I reminded him, my voice devoid of any human empathy. "You made your choice, Trevor."

Sokolov chuckled darkly. "A ruthless woman. I respect that. Now, what is this offer you mentioned?"

"Victoria Whitmore is currently in police custody," I explained, looking directly at the syndicate boss. "Her lawyers are aggressive. If she goes to trial, her financial records will be subpoenaed. Even with these ledgers gone, the DA will find the digital ghost trails linking her accounts to your shell companies. A public trial exposes you."

Sokolov’s smile faded, his eyes narrowing. "She would not dare speak our name in a courtroom."

"She will if she cuts a plea deal to avoid the death penalty for double homicide," I countered smoothly. "Victoria only cares about her own survival. If offering you up to the FBI buys her a lighter sentence, she will do it in a heartbeat."