“Apparently,” I said, looking down at her, “it costs exactly one human life.”

She lowered her voice and reached for my hand. “Peyton, listen — we can fix this. We were wrong about you. We’ll give you a real cut of the estate. Just make the files disappear.”

I reached up and tapped my shoulder, turning my body-camera lens toward her face as the red light began to blink.

“Please,” I said. “Keep making that bribe on camera.”

Her tears dried in an instant, replaced by pure venom.

By midnight, a judge approved search warrants for the estate, the corporate office, and Wyatt’s downtown apartment. But when my team lifted the loose stone in the chapel room, there was nothing under it.