He slowly turned his head toward the woman sitting at his right—the woman dripping in his diamonds.

Vanessa was hyperventilating, clawing at her cashmere wrap, her eyes wide with animal terror.

And Daniel was stuck in the doorway between the two rooms, caught somewhere between a living husband and a reanimated corpse. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

His breathing came shallow and erratic.

I stepped away from the canvas—the masterpiece of their mutual destruction.

I picked up a thick manila folder from the side table. The dossier I’d compiled over three sleepless nights. I walked back into the dining room and tossed it onto the table.