Arline sat on the cold floor for two minutes. She forced her brain to lock the fear of Kipp Sandoval away in a dark box.

She grabbed the wall and pushed herself up. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her grey skirt. She took a deep breath.

She walked to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She turned on the sink and splashed freezing water onto her face. She slapped her cheeks hard, forcing the blood to rise to the surface. The sharp, stinging pain was a necessary shock to her system. It forced her brain to snap out of the paralyzing terror Kipp Sandoval had triggered. She could not walk into her dying father's room looking like a shattered, frightened victim; he needed her strength, not her trauma.

She looked in the mirror. She still looked exhausted. She bit her lower lip hard until she tasted copper. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a gentle, fake smile.

Arline walked to the south side of the second floor. She stopped in front of the glass doors of the sunroom.

This was where Gary Monroe spent his days.

She pushed the glass door open. The early morning sun cut through the trees outside and filled the room with bright light.

Gary sat in a motorized wheelchair facing the window. A thick, grey cashmere blanket covered his legs.

He heard the door open. He turned his head.

When he saw Arline, the dull, tired look in his eyes vanished. A bright spark of joy lit up his face.

Arline walked fast across the room. She dropped to her knees beside the wheelchair. She rested her head gently on his thin knee.

Gary reached out. His hand trembled. The back of his hand was covered in dark purple bruises from constant IV needles. He stroked Arline's hair.

"You came home in the middle of the night," Gary said. His voice was weak and raspy. "Did Edgardo do something to you?"

Arline's spine went rigid at the sound of Edgardo's name. She quickly buried her face deeper into the blanket so Gary could not see her eyes.

She lifted her head and kept the fake smile on her face.

"No, Dad," Arline lied. Her voice was perfectly smooth. "Edgardo is just very busy with a new defense contract. He is sleeping at the office. Honestly, I just felt incredibly homesick. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and wake up in the house where I actually feel like myself. Plus, Cora needed me to review some urgent trust fund documents early this morning, and it was easier to do it from here."

Gary looked at the red veins in the whites of her eyes. He knew she was lying. He was a diplomat; he read people for a living. But he saw how desperately she was trying to protect him. He chose not to break her cover.

Gary sighed. A heavy look of guilt settled on his wrinkled face.

"My illness is a burden on you," Gary said. "It forces you to swallow your pride in that house."

Arline grabbed his bruised hand. Tears burned the back of her eyes.

"You are my father," Arline said fiercely. "You are the only family I have left. You are never a burden."

Gary reached toward a small table next to his wheelchair. He picked up a thick manila folder. He handed it to Arline.

"These are the authorization documents for the last three trust funds under my name," Gary said. "If the day comes when you cannot tolerate the Caldwells anymore, take this money. It is enough for you to leave with your head held high."

Arline stared at the folder. A sharp pain stabbed her chest. Her father was dying, and he was still secretly building an escape route for her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She took the folder and forced a laugh.

"I am going to inherit the whole Monroe empire anyway, Dad," she joked.

Gary smiled. The smile turned into a wet, rattling cough. His chest he heave.

Arline panicked. She grabbed a glass of warm water from the table and held it to his lips.

She watched his pale, shaking lips sip the water. Her mind flashed to what Alfred said. One week of the experimental drug left.

She ground her teeth together. She would burn Washington D. C. to the ground before she let her father run out of medicine.

A nurse walked into the sunroom carrying a tray of medical equipment. It was time for Gary's morning treatment.

Arline tucked the cashmere blanket tightly around Gary's legs. She stood up.

She watched the nurse wheel Gary out of the room. The fake smile dropped from her face instantly.

Her eyes turned cold and calculating. She pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened a financial app and pulled up the stock data for Caldwell Pharmaceuticals.

She stared at the green numbers moving on the screen. She needed to steal the formula for the drug, or she needed to find a lab that could reverse-engineer it.

She turned around and walked out of the sunroom. She headed straight for the private study. It was time to start the war.

Arline pushed open the heavy mahogany door of the Monroe estate's private study.

Cora Finch sat behind the massive oak desk. Two thick, encrypted laptops were open in front of her. Cables snaked across the wood.

Arline walked to the leather chair behind the desk and sat down.

"Give me the status on Caldwell's interference with my trust fund," Arline ordered.

Cora turned one of the laptops toward Arline. The screen showed a complex web of financial transfers. Cora pointed to a red highlighted section.

"Edgardo's older brother, Duane Caldwell, is the CFO of their company," Cora said. "Over the last six months, Duane used a loophole in your marriage contract. He froze the liquid assets of three of your major commercial properties under the excuse of 'joint investment restructuring'."

Arline stared at the numbers. A cold laugh escaped her lips.

"He is trying to lock up my cash flow so I cannot afford to fight them," Arline said. "Call the M&A lawyers on Wall Street. Tell them to prepare a Poison Pill strategy. We are going to forcefully liquidate those assets and bleed Duane's department dry."

Cora typed furiously on her keyboard. Then, she stopped. She looked up at Arline with a grim expression.

"If we file the divorce papers and attack their finances," Cora said slowly, "Edgardo will immediately cut off the supply of Gary's experimental drug."

The air in the study turned freezing cold.

Arline rubbed her temples. Her fingers pressed hard into her skin. This was the dead knot she could not untie.

"I cannot stay married to him, Cora," Arline said. Her voice dropped to a disgusted whisper. "I went to the West Wing last night. I saw Edgardo and Kenia in bed together. I heard him call me a pathetic dog. The thought of breathing the same air as that family makes me physically sick."

Cora's eyes went wide. She slammed her hand flat against the desk.

"Those disgusting parasites!" Cora hissed. "They are using your money and sleeping together under your roof!"

"I need a new lab," Arline said, ignoring the outburst. Her brain was working in overdrive. "We have to find a facility that can synthesize the drug before I hand Edgardo the divorce papers."

Outside the study, the hallway was quiet.

Gary Monroe sat in his motorized wheelchair. The wheels were silent on the thick Persian carpet. He held a glass of warm milk in his hand. He wanted to bring it to his daughter.

The heavy mahogany door was not fully closed. A one-inch gap let the voices from inside drift out.

Gary stopped the wheelchair. He heard Cora yell about parasites. He held his breath.

Then, he heard Arline's voice. He heard her say she saw Edgardo and Kenia in bed. He heard her say Edgardo called her a dog.

Gary's hand began to shake violently.

The warm milk sloshed over the rim of the glass. It spilled onto his cashmere blanket.

His daughter. His proud, brilliant daughter was being humiliated and tortured by the family that was supposed to protect her. And she was enduring it just to get his medicine.

A massive wave of rage and crushing guilt slammed into Gary's chest.

His breathing turned into loud, wet gasps. A sharp, tearing pain exploded behind his sternum. It felt like a hot knife twisting in his heart.

Black spots danced in his vision. He tried to push the joystick on the wheelchair to enter the room, but his fingers lost all strength.

The glass of milk slipped from his hand. It hit the thick carpet with a muffled thud.

Gary's body slumped forward. He slid out of the wheelchair and crashed heavily onto the floor.

Inside the study, Arline heard the heavy thud against the door.

Her stomach dropped. Ice water flooded her veins.

She shoved her chair back. It crashed into the bookshelf. She sprinted to the door and ripped it open.

Gary lay on the floor. His face was turning a dark, terrifying shade of purple. His eyes were rolled back.

Arline let out a raw, guttural scream.

Her medical training hijacked her panic. She dropped to her knees beside him. She pressed two fingers hard against his carotid artery.

The pulse was barely there. It was fluttering like a dying bird.

"Call 911! Activate the estate medical team!" Arline screamed at Cora.

Arline ripped Gary's shirt open. She locked her hands together. She locked her elbows. She positioned the heel of her hand over the center of his chest.

She pushed down hard. One, two, three, four.

Tears poured out of her eyes and dripped onto Gary's chest, but her compressions were mechanically perfect.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. Alfred and the estate's private medical team ran toward them pushing a crash cart.

A doctor grabbed Arline by the shoulders and pulled her away.

Arline fell back against the wall. She watched the doctor press the defibrillator paddles to Gary's chest. Gary's body jerked violently off the floor.

Arline dug her fingernails into her own arms. She felt her entire world collapsing.

Three agonizing minutes passed. The monitor on the crash cart beeped. A weak, steady green line appeared on the screen.

"We have a pulse," the doctor yelled, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Load him up. He needs the ICU right now."

Arline slid down the wall. She sat on the floor, staring at the spilled milk soaking into the carpet. Her body felt completely hollow.