Mom had discovered the affair long before she let on. And in secret, she’d amended the trust. She had completely removed Arthur Hale as the primary beneficiary of the eight-million-dollar policy.

Upon her death, every single cent of that eight million was legally bound to transfer into a newly minted charitable foundation for domestic abuse and burn victims.

A foundation entirely controlled by me.

My father had slaughtered his wife, burned his own home, and nearly killed his only child for a phantom fortune he was never legally entitled to receive.

“He targeted the wrong accountant,” Ortiz whispered, staring at the screen in awe.

“No, Detective,” I replied, my voice a cold, sharp blade. “He targeted the wrong women entirely. But this isn’t enough. A good defense lawyer will argue the audio is out of context and the embezzlement is a separate white-collar crime. We need him holding the match. We need to tie him directly to the physical ignition.”