Part 2: His mistress answered my 31st call from Maui and laughed, completely unaware that his dying mother was listening to every word behind her oxygen mask.

The rain began to fall in sheets over Boston, turning the fallen leaves into slippery paste along the cobblestones. Inside the rented Mercedes parked down the street from the mansion, the air was suffocating with tension.

"You told me she was nobody!" Chloe screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. "You told me Clara was an uneducated, submissive housewife who didn't even know how to balance a checkbook! How does she have IRS investigation notices with my name on them, Julian?"

Julian slammed his fists against the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "Shut up! Just shut up and let me think!"

"Don't you tell me to shut up!" Chloe shrieked, tears ruining her mascara. "I am listed as the sole director of Blue Pacific Logistics! You told me that was for tax efficiency! You told me that made me a partner in the family trust! If the federal government is investigating that account, I’m the one who goes to prison!"

Julian turned on her, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "You wanted the lifestyle, didn't you? You wanted the yacht in St. Barts! You wanted the penthouse in Manhattan! Did you think that money just materialized out of thin air? I diverted foundation funds through your company because it was outside the direct oversight of the probate court! If you go down, I go down, so keep your mouth shut!"

Chloe stared at him, the reality of her situation finally piercing through her vanity. Julian hadn't made her a partner to share his wealth. He had made her a human shield. If the regulatory authorities ever looked into Eleanor’s missing foundation money, the paper trail terminated at Chloe Reynolds, while Julian’s hands remained technically clean of operational oversight.

"You used me," she whispered, her voice trembling with hatred.

"I took care of you," Julian hissed, turning the ignition key. "And I will continue to take care of you once we handle this tomorrow. Arthur Vance is eighty years old. He’s bluffing. My mother was ninety-one, half-blind, and suffered two massive strokes. Any changes she made to her will in the last three years can be thrown out on the grounds of diminished mental capacity and undue influence."

He backed the car out onto the street, his jaw clenched tight. "Clara spent every day with her. We will claim Clara manipulated a dying, senile woman to hijack the estate. The courts will freeze Clara out, declare the new will invalid, and the original trust from 2012 will stand. I will get everything."

Chloe looked out the rainy window, her hands gripping her handbag where her phone sat vibrating.

It was a text from an unknown number.

She tapped the notification under the dashboard light. The message read:

*Chloe. Julian’s defense strategy relies on proving you were an unauthorized embezzler who manipulated him. Check your email for the affidavit he prepared six months ago to throw you under the bus. If you want immunity, call me before 9:00 AM. — Clara.*

Chloe’s breath hitched in her throat. She glanced sideways at Julian, who was muttering curses under his breath as he drove toward a downtown hotel.