I hunted monsters exactly like my brother for a living. But this wasn’t a case file. This was my mother.

I needed evidence — not just photos of the abuse, but the financial motive. At dinner Daniel had gloated about a “foolproof system,” and he’d mentioned my mother sleeping “in the dark” when she misbehaved.

I knew what that meant.

I slipped out of bed, my stockinged feet silent on the hardwood. At dinner I’d noticed a heavy iron key on a hook inside the pantry — one that matched no standard door.

The basement key.

I crept down the stairs, every creak sounding like a gunshot. I took the key, fit it into the lock of the heavy oak door beneath the house, and turned it.