A stranger warned me my drink was laced with cyanide, so I switched glasses—only to watch my sister-in-law collapse in agony.

The wooden door slammed against the interior wall with an explosive crack.

Graham spun around, dropping a fistful of documents into the hearth. In the firelight, his face looked wild, hollow, and demonic. In his right hand, gleamed a snub-nosed .38 revolver.

"Don't move, Elena!" he screamed, cocking the hammer back.

I stood in the doorway, soaked in rainwater, my eyes burning into his. "Shoot me, Graham. Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Let the gunshot echo across the entire ridge. Detective Vance’s dispatch team is already surrounding this mountain."

Graham froze, his eyes darting frantically toward the pitch-black woods outside the doorway. "You're lying. You came alone. I know you, Elena. You're too proud to hide behind badges."

"You don't know anything about me," I said, stepping slowly into the room, refusing to show fear. "You spent four years pretending to love me, and you didn't even realize that I would gladly die before I let you hand my father’s legacy to Donald Cross."

Graham let out a frantic, high-pitched laugh that chilled my marrow. "Donald Cross? You think Cross is the one who hired me?"

The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a look of sheer, venomous spite.

"Cross works for *him*, Elena. Cross was just the middleman who handled the escrow payments. You still have no idea whose empire your father really stole this ridge from, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, keeping my feet balanced, ready to strike.

"Your precious father wasn't an honest timber baron," Graham snarled, stepping closer, the barrel of the revolver aimed squarely between my eyes. "Thirty years ago, your father betrayed his founding partners. He locked them out of the syndicate, stole the rights to Blackwood Ridge, and left them to rot in federal prison. One of those partners survived."

My mind raced. "Julian."

"Yes," Graham hissed. "Julian Vance! The man you saw in the tavern! Did you really think he saved your life out of the kindness of his heart? He didn't want you dead from cyanide because my contract specified you had to sign the transfer deeds alive under duress before your 'accidental suicide'!"

The world tilted beneath my feet.

*Julian Vance.* The old man at the tavern. *Detective Vance.*

They shared the same last name.

"Detective Vance didn't follow me here to protect me," I whispered in horror.

"Detective Vance is Julian's grandson," Graham laughed, raising the gun. "You walked right into their slaughterhouse, Elena. And now that you brought yourself here, we don't need the forged deeds anymore. We just need your signature."