My pregnant wife’s father and eight brothers beat her so brutally that our unborn child died, then stood outside her ICU room laughing while they told me I wasn’t powerful enough to touch them.

I left Clara sleeping under heavy sedation and took the private elevator to the sub-basement of the estate.

The air grew cold and smelled of damp concrete.

Elias opened the heavy steel door. Inside the windowless room, Dr. Evans was tied to a metal chair. He had been sitting in total darkness for three days. The moment the harsh fluorescent lights flickered on, he squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering.

I pulled up a chair and sat directly in front of him.

“Please,” the surgeon begged, his voice hoarse from screaming for help that never came. “I didn’t want to do it. Vincent threatened my family!”

“Vincent paid you five hundred thousand dollars in untraceable bearer bonds,” I corrected, tossing the white envelope onto the floor between us. “I don't care about your excuses. I want the truth. Why did Richard order the hit inside the hospital?”

The surgeon swallowed hard, sweat dripping down his pale face.

“They... they needed her dead before tomorrow,” he stammered.

“Why?”

“The trust fund,” Evans cried out. “Clara’s grandfather left the majority of the family estate to her, but it only transfers to her total control when she turns thirty. That’s tomorrow, Mr. Vance. Tomorrow!”

I froze.

“If she dies before her thirtieth birthday,” Evans continued, hyperventilating, “the entire estate reverts back to Richard and the brothers. They are completely broke, Adrian. They leveraged everything on bad real estate deals. If Clara takes control tomorrow, they lose their mansion, their companies, everything.”

They didn't just beat her out of spite.

They murdered their unborn grandchild for a paycheck.