Frederica's sports car screeched to a halt on the gravel driveway of the Long Island estate. The tires tore deep ruts into the manicured ground. The front door of the mansion was wide open.

Screams echoed from inside. Then a loud crash.

She ran up the steps, her heels clicking frantically on the stone.

The main foyer was a war zone. A Ming vase lay in shards across the marble floor. An oil painting had been ripped from the wall, the canvas slashed.

Meredith Mccullough stood in the center of the debris. She was wearing a silk nightgown, her grey hair wild and tangled. She held a pair of garden shears in her hand, slashing at the air.

The staff huddled in the doorways, terrified.

Frederica's father, Marcus, stood on the second-floor landing. He looked down at the scene with a look of pure disgust.

"Grab her!" Marcus shouted at the security guards. "Before she destroys the tapestry!"

Meredith spun around. Her eyes landed on Frederica. For a second, recognition flickered-not of a daughter, but of a target.

"You!" Meredith shrieked. "You stole my shares!"

Frederica froze. She held up her hands, palms open. "Mom, it is me. Freddie."

Meredith didn't hear her. She grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from a side table and hurled it.

Frederica ducked instinctively. The heavy glass rocketed past her head and shattered against the wall behind her with explosive force. A sharp sting erupted on her temple as a shard of flying crystal sliced her skin.

The impact was a sharp, blinding pain. Frederica stumbled back. Warm liquid instantly gushed down the side of her face, blurring her right eye.

Meredith screamed at the sight of the blood. She dropped the shears and curled into a ball on the floor, shaking violently.

Frederica ignored the blood running into her mouth. She rushed forward, dropping to her knees to wrap her arms around her mother.

"It is okay," she whispered, rocking the trembling woman. "I am here."

Marcus walked down the grand staircase slowly. He glanced at Frederica, at the blood dripping onto the Persian rug.

"You are making a mess," he said.

Frederica looked up. Blood coated half her face. Her eyes were feral.

"Call a doctor! Where is Dr. Aris?"

Marcus signaled to his head of security. "Lock her in her room. We have a board meeting tomorrow. No police. No ambulances."

Two large men stepped forward. They pulled Frederica off her mother. They dragged the screaming Meredith up the stairs.

Frederica tried to follow, but Stone, her father's secretary, blocked her path.

"She is your wife!" Frederica yelled, wiping blood from her eye. "She needs a sedative! She needs a hospital!"

Marcus adjusted his cufflinks. "She is a liability on my balance sheet, Frederica. And right now, so are you."

A chill went through Frederica that had nothing to do with the blood loss.

Dr. Aris hurried in from the side entrance, carrying a black medical bag. He was the concierge doctor, paid to be discreet, not ethical.

Marcus stopped him. He whispered something low. The doctor nodded nervously and hurried up the stairs.

The foyer fell silent. The maids began to sweep up the glass.

Frederica felt the room spin. She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she hit the floor. She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to stem the flow.

Marcus stood over her.

"Clean yourself up," he said. "I do not want Easton thinking we abuse our assets."

Frederica looked at the man who had contributed half her DNA. The last thread of filial obligation snapped.

She gritted her teeth. She would make them pay. Every single one of them.

Frederica sat in the heavy leather chair across from her father's desk. A gauze pad was taped to her forehead, bright white against her pale skin.

Marcus lit a cigar. The smoke curled around him, obscuring his face.

Stone, the secretary, slid a piece of paper across the mahogany surface.

Frederica looked down. It was a check. Fifty thousand dollars.

"A care package," Marcus said, exhaling smoke. "Buy some concealer. Go on a vacation."

Frederica let out a dry laugh. "Hush money? For my mother's breakdown?"

Marcus tapped ash into a crystal tray. "Do not be dramatic. It is to ensure you do not go crying to Easton. We are in a delicate merger phase."

Frederica stared at the check. Her pride screamed at her to tear it up and throw it in his face. But her brain-the auditor's brain-saw an opportunity. This wasn't money; it was data. The account number, the routing information-it was a key.

She reached out. Her fingers, stained with dried blood under the nails, picked up the check. Her expression was cold, indifferent. Let him think this is all I'm worth, that I can be bought so cheaply.

"Fine," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. Her internal thoughts were racing. This account will lead me straight to the off-the-books funds he's using to pay Dr. Aris. This isn't a payoff. It's evidence.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. He looked surprised at her quick compliance. "What do you want?"

"I want signature authority on Meredith's offshore trust," she said, knowing the request was obsolete. It was a test, a way to confirm her suspicions about his legal maneuvers.

Marcus's face hardened. "That is family capital. Absolutely not. Her power of attorney was transferred to me years ago. You know that."

Frederica shrugged, feigning disappointment. Just as I suspected, she thought. He's already consolidated legal control. She folded the check and slipped it into her pocket. "Then fifty it is. But I want it as a cashier's check."

Marcus waved his hand dismissively. "Stone, take her to the bank in the morning."

Frederica stood up. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat. She walked out of the study.

"Watch her," she heard Marcus say. "Do not let her pull anything."

She walked down the hallway and nearly collided with Dr. Aris coming down the stairs.

She grabbed the doctor's arm. "Is she asleep?"

The doctor wouldn't meet her eyes. "Yes. I increased the dosage. She will sleep for a long time."

Frederica tightened her grip. "If she does not wake up, I will have your license revoked. I have the files, Doctor. The ones detailing your prescription kickbacks from pharma reps."

He paled and pulled away, hurrying toward the exit.

Frederica walked out the front door. The night air bit at her wound. She looked at the check in her hand. It wasn't just money. It was an exit strategy.

She walked toward the parking area. Her car was blocked in.

A red Ferrari was parked directly behind her bumper. A man was leaning against the door, smoking.

The ember of the cigarette glowed, illuminating a face that looked like a softer, crueler version of Easton's.

Julian Reilly.

Julian dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the toe of his loafer. He walked toward her, his eyes fixing immediately on the white gauze on her forehead.

"Who did that? Marcus?"

Frederica took a step back. "None of your business, Julian. Move your car."

Julian let out a bitter laugh. "You are still so stubborn, Freddie. If you had chosen me back then..."

Frederica cut him off. "You sold me, Julian. You traded me to Easton for shares. Do not rewrite history."

Julian flinched. "That was Father's deal. I had no choice. I was the spare."

He stepped closer, invading her space. "I have my own capital now. I can take you away from him."

Frederica felt bile rise in her throat. "I am your sister-in-law."

Julian's face twisted. "Easton does not love you! He is using you to control the Mccullough voting block!"

"At least he pays well," Frederica spat. "And he does not pretend to be a saint."

Julian snapped. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in. He leaned in, trying to kiss her.

Frederica reacted on instinct. She brought her knee up, but the dress was too tight. Instead, she stomped her heel down, driving the stiletto into his shin.

Julian yelled and let go, hopping back.

Frederica scrambled for her car door.

Suddenly, the driveway was flooded with light. High beams cut through the darkness, blinding them both.

A black stretch Lincoln rolled silently up the gravel drive. It stopped right next to the Ferrari.

The back window rolled down.

Easton sat there. His face was in shadow, but his eyes caught the light. They were cold, dead calm.

Julian straightened up, ignoring the pain in his leg. The fear on his face was instant. The spare facing the heir.

Easton didn't look at his brother. He looked at the blood on Frederica's cheek, at the gauze.

"Get in," Easton said.

Frederica hesitated. She didn't want to go with him. But looking at Julian's desperate, grabby hands...

"Unless you want Julian to be on the front page for harassment tomorrow," Easton added.

Julian turned pale. He stepped back, head bowed.

Frederica made the calculation. She walked to the Lincoln. The driver opened the door, and she slid into the warmth of the backseat.

As the door closed, Easton spoke to the window, his voice projecting clearly to his brother.

"Stay away from my assets, Julian."

The car pulled away.

Frederica slumped in the corner, exhausted. Her head was pounding a rhythm of pain.

Easton didn't speak. He opened the small refrigerator console. He took out an ice pack. He wrapped it in a silk handkerchief.

He held it out to her.

"Put this on."

Frederica took it. The cold was shocking against her hot skin, but the relief was instant. She closed her eyes, trapped in the dark with the husband she was leaving, who had just saved her from the man she used to love.