It captured Daniel dragging my limp, agonizingly burned body just past the kitchen threshold, out of what he assumed was the line of sight of the window.

It recorded him forcibly holding my unconscious face up to my smartphone to unlock it with FaceID. It captured the screen’s reflection as he frantically transferred thousands of dollars from our joint accounts, systematically deleted a slew of incriminating text messages, and finally dialed a number.

“She’s down, and she might not wake up from this,” Daniel’s voice echoed through the tablet speaker in the detective’s hands.

“Start the second phase. Move the primary trust assets into the holding company tonight.”

That was the exact moment Detective Hale stopped treating Daniel like a traumatized, grieving husband.

The metallic, heavy click of handcuffs snapping shut was the most beautiful symphony I’d ever heard.