230 My husband hurt me every day as if it were his personal entertainment. One day, he beat me so viciously that I blacked out, and when he brought me to the hospital, he said, “She accidentally slipped and fell in the shower.” The moment the doctor noticed the bruises across my face, he called 911.

The house was dark and silent as Officer Miller and I slipped through the side entrance. The familiar smell of expensive mahogany furniture and Grant’s favorite bourbon filled the air, sending a involuntary shiver down my spine. Every corner of this house held a memory of violence. Here, by the stairs, was where he had thrown a crystal vase at my head. There, in the dining room, was where he had forced me to sit for hours in silence just to prove his control.

"Stay close to me," Miller whispered, his gun drawn as we walked up the grand staircase toward Grant's study.

We reached the heavy double doors of the office. I pushed them open, walking straight to the massive desk in the center of the room. The triple monitors sat dark, waiting for input.

I sat in Grant’s leather chair—the very chair he used to sit in while watching the videos of my suffering. I pulled the master terminal cable from under the desk and plugged in my tablet.

"Come on, come on," I muttered as the system began to boot up under the emergency satellite network.

The screen flashed to life, requesting the primary administrative biometric and alpha-numeric password. I knew Grant’s password, but the system required Victor’s secondary authorization code to access the core logistics databases.

"I don't have Victor's code," I realized aloud, panic starting to creep back into my chest. "Without it, the system will delete the entire database in ninety seconds to protect the company from a hostile takeover."

"Looking for this, Clara?"

A voice drifted from the shadows near the balcony doors.

The lights in the study suddenly snapped on, blinding us for a second. Standing by the bookshelves was Victor Mercer himself. He looked immaculate, his silver hair perfectly styled, holding a small silver device that displayed a rotating digital security key.

Officer Miller instantly turned his weapon toward Victor. "Drop it! Get your hands where I can see them!"

"I don't think so, Officer," Victor said smoothly. He raised his left hand, revealing a small remote detonator. "This house is equipped with a state-of-the-art emergency destruction system meant to protect corporate secrets in case of a federal raid. If my heart rate drops, or if I press this button, the basement servers—and this entire floor—will explode into ash."

Miller hesitated, his hand shaking slightly.

Victor walked over to the desk, ignoring the gun pointed at him. He looked down at me with pure contempt. "You were an excellent accountant, Clara. But you forgot one thing. Grant was a fool, but I am not. I knew about your little cloud account for six months. I let you gather the information because I needed an excuse to eliminate Grant from the business anyway. He was becoming sloppy, erratic, and expensive."

My jaw tightened. "You used me to take out your own brother?"

"Of course," Victor smiled coldly. "With Grant in jail, I inherit his shares. The company becomes completely mine. And now, you’re going to log into that terminal, transfer the remaining assets to my private account in Switzerland, and then you and this brave officer are going to have a tragic accident during the storm."