My husband whipped me twenty times because his sweet-talking mistress convinced him I deserved punishment. As I lay trembling on the floor, they laughed. I reached for my phone and called my billionaire father. “Daddy, you were right. Destroy his life.” Five minutes later, my husband’s phone exploded with calls. His face turned deathly pale as he dropped to his knees. “What have you done?!” he screamed. But the worst was still coming...

Daniel’s hands shook so violently that he nearly dropped the receiver. "Clara... please. What do you want? Tell me what you want! A divorce? I’ll sign an uncontested divorce! I won't take a single dime! I’ll sign a full confession for Vanessa! I’ll testify against her!"

"You're going to testify against her anyway," I said calmly. "Marcus Thorne doesn't need your cooperation, Daniel. Vanessa’s brother Julian turned state's evidence three hours ago to save his own skin. He handed over every text message, every bank routing sheet, and the encrypted video file Vanessa recorded of you striking me."

Daniel slammed both hands against the glass. "She recorded it?!"

"Of course she did," I said, tilting my head. "She wanted absolute leverage over you. She was going to blackmail you for whatever scraps of Hale money remained after she fled to Switzerland. You were never her lover, Daniel. You were her mark."

A broken, animalistic sob escaped his throat. He slumped against the metal table, his forehead hitting the plastic divider. "It's over. My life is over."

"Not quite," I said.

Daniel snapped his head up, hope flaring in his eyes like a dying ember. "There's... there's a way out?"

"There is an offer," I said, gesturing slightly toward Arthur, who stood near the visitor room door holding a thin document. "You will plead guilty to all twenty counts of aggravated domestic assault, felony reckless endangerment, and first-degree grand larceny. You will waive all rights of appeal, all claims to the marital estate, and all rights to Vance Capital intellectual property."

"And the sentence?" Daniel whispered, dread choking his voice.

"Marcus Thorne will recommend twenty-five years at Sing Sing Correctional Facility. No parole eligibility until year twenty."

"Twenty years?!" Daniel shrieked, prisoners and guards turning their heads at his outburst. "Clara, I'm thirty-two! I’ll be an old man! That's half my life!"

"Or," I continued, unbothered by his panic, "you can go to trial. Where Marcus Thorne will bring federal torture charges, wire fraud, RICO racketeering, and attempted murder. You will be found guilty in less than three days. And the federal judge will hand you forty-five years at ADX Florence in Colorado, twenty-three hours a day in a concrete box with no human contact."