My sister broke my right hand right before the bar exam, and when my father found me on the garage floor, he told me to keep my mouth shut.

The pain was blinding.

Every time my boots found a foothold in the stone grooves, the shockwave traveled up through my body, rattling the broken bones in my right hand. I gasped for air, tears blurring my vision, but the sound of my father's heavy shoes pounding against the terrace stone above kept my feet moving down.

*Ten feet. Six feet.*

I let go.

I hit the manicured grass of the side lawn with a dull thud, rolling onto my left side to shield my arm. The impact knocked the wind clean out of me, but I didn't wait to catch it. I scrambled to my feet, ducked beneath the shadow of the tall rhododendron hedges, and ran toward the perimeter gate.

Behind me, the estate's exterior floodlights suddenly flared to life, bathing the lawn in harsh, white halogen light.

"Clara!" my father’s voice echoed from the balcony.

I reached the low stone wall bordering Morris Avenue, vaulted over it using my uninjured forearm for leverage, and landed on the asphalt sidewalk.

Fifty yards ahead, a dark gray Audi sedan sat idling by the curb, its headlights turned off. The passenger door swung open.

"Get in!" a voice called.

I didn't think twice. I dove into the passenger seat, pulled the door shut with my left foot and elbow, and collapsed against the leather upholstery.

Professor Evelyn Alvarez didn't waste a second. She slammed the accelerator, and the Audi surged forward into the dark, winding roads of Bryn Mawr, disappearing before my father could even make it down the front staircase.

Alvarez glanced over at me, her sharp dark eyes taking in my pale face, the bulky hospital cast, and the sweat soaking my collar.

"You look terrible," she said clinically.

"Thank you," I breathed, my head spinning from the adrenaline crash.

"We have an appointment at Jefferson University Hospital in forty minutes. I called the chief of orthopedic trauma—he’s an old friend of mine who doesn't owe Marcus Vance or your father a damn dime. We’re getting a full CT scan, a formal forensic injury report, and an emergency affidavit for the Board."

"They're going to try to cancel my degree," I whispered, staring down at my shattered hand. "Dad will call the Dean. He’ll claim I’m mentally unfit."

Alvarez gave a cold, dry chuckle that held zero humor. "Let him try. Your father forgot one very important detail, Clara."

"What?"

"He may be a founding partner at Sterling & Vance, but I spent twelve years on the State Disciplinary Board. If he wants to play dirty, he’s about to find out what happens when you commit wire fraud, medical tampering, and witness intimidation in the same forty-eight-hour window."