My mother-in-law told my pregnant 18-year-old daughter she was no longer family and threw her out on Thanksgiving. She spent the holiday alone in her car. But the next morning, the family lawyer called with a question that changed everything.

Justice, when it finally arrives, is relentless.

In mid-January, the federal grand jury returned a twenty-two-count indictment against Eleanor Sterling, including wire fraud, interstate transportation of stolen securities, tax evasion, and obstruction of justice. Denied bail due to the risk of flight to non-extradition territories where she had attempted to move hidden funds, Eleanor was remanded to the Federal Detention Center in downtown Philadelphia.

One week before the preliminary trial was set to begin, Matt received an unexpected summons from the United States Attorney’s office.

Matt and Harrison Vance arrived at the federal building early on Tuesday morning. In a secure interview room in the basement, Eleanor sat across a metal table, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, her wrists shackled to the floor ring.

"You wanted to see me, Eleanor?" Matt asked, remaining standing, refusing to sit in the chair opposite her.

Eleanor lifted her head. Her face was gaunt, her silver hair stripped of its salon dye, showing dark roots and patches of gray. But behind her sunken eyes, there was a strange, manic gleam that made Matt’s spine turn to ice.

"You think you won, Matthew," Eleanor whispered, her voice a dry rasp that sounded like dead leaves dragging across concrete. "You think you and your little domestic family took down the great Eleanor Sterling."

"You did this to yourself," Matt replied evenly. "You stole from your own blood for thirty years."

Eleanor let out a sharp, mocking cackle that echoed off the cinderblock walls.

"You stupid, naive boy," she hissed, leaning as far forward as her chains would allow. "You really believe I did this alone? You think a twenty-four-year-old girl in 1974 managed to forge Swiss banking records, silence the Philadelphia medical board, and bypass the federal estate taxation all by herself?"

Harrison Vance stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Eleanor, if you have information regarding co-conspirators, you should disclose it to the federal prosecutor for a sentencing plea."

"I don't care about sentencing!" Eleanor spat, her gaze never wavering from Matt. "I am going to die in here, and I know it. But Harriet didn't just have one secret, Matthew. She had enemies that you can't even fathom."

She smiled—a grotesque, terrifying grin that sent a wave of nausea through Matt’s stomach.

"Julian Moreau... your so-called brilliant French father... did you ever ask Duval why he died three weeks before you were born?"

Matt stopped breathing. "What are you talking about?"

"Julian didn't have a heart attack, Matthew," Eleanor whispered, her words dripping with pure, toxic venom. "He was silenced. Because Julian found out that the Sterling Industrial mergers weren't funded by Pennsylvania steel at all. They were funded by a syndicate in Zurich—a cartel of families who owned the land, the patents, and the very steel mills your mother claimed to build."

Eleanor’s voice dropped to a terrifying, hushed frequency.

"They let Harriet run the empire because she was useful. They let me take you because they wanted the direct bloodline hidden and vulnerable. And now that you’ve broken the Swiss seal... now that you’ve brought all those old documents out into the daylight..."

She began to laugh—a soft, bubbling sound of absolute malice.