“What?”
“Get out of my room. Get out of my sight. Before I call security.”
Ethan laughed. “Fine. Enjoy your last few days of playing victim. Once the lawyers get involved, you’ll be lucky if you get visitation rights for the boy.”
He turned and walked out, whistling a tune.
I waited until the door closed. Then I picked up my phone.
I had one notification from my private investigator, Mr. Vance. I had hired him three months ago when Ethan started coming home late smelling of lilies.
The subject line read: Subject: Isabella Rossi (aka The Heiress).
I opened the file.
The first page wasn’t a bank statement. It was a mugshot. Three of them, actually. From Florida, Texas, and Nevada.
Charges: Wire Fraud, Identity Theft, Grand Larceny, Impersonating an Officer.
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Isabella wasn’t an heiress. She was a grifter. A con artist who targeted failing wealthy families, promised to save them with “overseas funds,” and then vanished with whatever assets they had left—jewelry, cash, credit lines.
She hadn’t paid off the mortgage. She had probably forged a bank transfer document to keep Ethan happy while she raided the family safe.
She didn’t know the mortgage was already paid off. By me.
I dialed the number for the local precinct.
“Hello, Detective?” I said into the phone. “My name is Clara Thorne. I believe I have the location of the fugitive you’ve been tracking in connection with the Palm Beach fraud case. Yes. She’s currently trespassing on my property.”
Part 4: The Raid
The Next Morning.
The Blackwood Manor was bathed in morning sunlight.
Ethan sat at the kitchen island, sipping espresso. Isabella was next to him, flipping through a paint catalogue.
“We should paint the nursery blue for Leo,” Ethan said, tapping a swatch. “Royal blue. Strong. The girl can stay in Clara’s apartment or whatever dump she finds. We don’t need the clutter.”
Isabella nodded, sipping her green juice. “Absolutely, darling. We need the space for the art collection I’m having shipped from Milan. Did I tell you about the Dalí print?”
“You’re amazing,” Ethan sighed, leaning over to kiss her. “I still can’t believe you paid off the house.”
CRASH.
The sound was deafening. The heavy oak front doors of the Manor splintered inward with a violence that shook the floorboards.
“POLICE! DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!”
Ethan jumped up, dropping his mug. It shattered, spraying espresso over Isabella’s white silk robe.
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