My Husband Broke My Leg After I Caught Him With His Mistress—But He Didn’t Know My Father Was The Man Washington Feared, And The Night He Locked Me In The Dark Became The Beginning Of His Family’s Public Destruction...

A week later, Lena returned to Elias Rowan’s estate in Washington, D.C.

Her leg was healing well. The cast had been removed, replaced by a lighter walking boot. She felt stronger, sharper, forged in the fire of her own revenge.

She walked into her father’s study to tell him she was leaving, that she was going back to San Diego to rebuild Caldwell Development into a company her mother would have been proud of.

But when she opened the heavy oak doors, Elias was not sitting behind his desk.

He was standing by the massive window, looking out at the dark treeline. The room was unusually dark, only a single desk lamp illuminating a scatter of highly classified dossiers.

"You did it, Dad," Lena said, stepping into the room. "Warren is going to die in federal prison. Mom is avenged."

Elias didn't turn around. His broad shoulders were tense, rigid with an emotion Lena couldn't quite identify.

"Warren Caldwell was a monster, Lena," Elias said, his voice unusually quiet, almost hollow. "But he was a localized monster. A real estate developer playing mafia."

Lena frowned, limping slightly closer. "What do you mean?"

Elias finally turned. In the dim light, he looked older, exhausted. He gestured to the files on his desk.

"During the raid on Charles Pike’s D.C. offices, the FBI confiscated his encrypted servers. My people got a copy of the hard drives before the feds could bury them."

Lena looked down at the documents. They were covered in strange symbols—a black serpent eating its own tail.

"Pike and Caldwell weren't acting alone when they killed your mother," Elias whispered, his eyes dark with a fear Lena had never seen in him before. "They were taking orders. Your mother didn't just find a local housing scam. She stumbled onto the financing arm of a global syndicate. A group that buys and sells politicians like cattle."

Lena’s breath hitched in her throat. "Are you saying..."

"I'm saying Warren Caldwell was just a middleman," Elias confirmed grimly. "And by taking him down so loudly, so publicly... you didn't just get revenge, Lena."

Elias picked up a glossy photograph from the pile and handed it to her. It was a surveillance photo taken of Lena, just yesterday, walking out of her physical therapy clinic. Written across her face in red ink was a single word: NEXT.