The four-year-old begged her stepmother that the water was too hot, and then her CEO father opened the bathroom door

By 3:00 PM, the installation was complete. Twelve hidden camera feeds were wired directly to a secure server hosted on Ethan's private, encrypted phone network.

Ethan sat in his private home office on the third floor, a room Claire rarely entered.

On his desk monitor, four live video panels displayed the playroom, the kitchen, Maddie's bedroom, and the hallway.

Below, the front door opened.

Claire walked into the grand foyer holding two-year-old Noah by his hand. She threw her designer handbag onto the entry table and kicked off her heels.

Maddie walked out from the living room, holding her faded stuffed rabbit.

"Claire?" Maddie asked softly, staying ten feet away. "Can I have some water?"

On the screen, Ethan watched Claire's face undergo a horrific transformation. The warm, maternal smile she had worn outside evaporated into a cold, cruel glare.

"Did I say you could leave your room?" Claire snapped, stepping toward the four-year-old.

Maddie immediately flinched, pulling her shoulders up to protect her ears. "I... I was thirsty."

"Your father is upstairs pretending to be a hero because of your stupid little scene yesterday," Claire hissed, leaning down until her face was inches from Maddie's. "Do you think he actually wants to stay here with you? He hates being here. He's missing a hundred-million-dollar deal because you couldn't keep your mouth shut about a little hot water."

Maddie didn't cry. She just stared at the floor, trembling violently.

"Go back to your room," Claire commanded coldly. "And if you say one word to him when he comes down, I'll make sure your little brother gets the hot water next time."

In the third-floor office, Ethan stood up so fast his leather chair crashed backward into the wall.

His hands were shaking, his vision swimming in a sea of red.

He didn't run down the stairs raging. He couldn't.

If he attacked her now, her high-priced lawyers would claim he was an unstable, grieving husband suffering from a mental breakdown. She would drag him through custody battles and potentially gain access to his children during supervised visits.

He had to destroy her completely. Legally, financially, and permanently.

Ethan opened his phone and called Marcus Vance again.

"Marcus," Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I need the best private investigator in the state. And I need a top-tier family law attorney in my office in two hours."

"You got it, Ethan," Marcus replied. "What's the directive?"