Sir, do you need a maid? I can do anything – my daughter is starving.”

The Vance Manor was an imposing structure of gothic architecture, sitting on fifty acres of manicured lawns. Tonight, however, it was surrounded by red and blue flashing lights, hidden behind the treeline. Swat vans idled quietly in the driveway.

I stepped out of my car, the cold night air biting at my face. Commissioner Hale met me at the gates.

"The warrant is signed, Daniel. We are ready."

"Let me go in first," I requested.

Hale nodded, gesturing for his tactical team to stand down but remain alert. I walked up the marble steps and pushed open the heavy oak doors. The house was dead quiet. The servants had likely fled or been detained. I walked into the grand library, where I knew she would be.

Margaret Vance sat in her leather wingback chair, sipping a glass of scotch by the fireplace. She looked immaculate, as always, wearing a silk robe, her silver hair perfectly styled. She didn't look like a monster; she looked like a queen holding court.

"I see the police outside, Daniel," she said calmly, not turning around. "I assume this is another one of your paranoid episodes? I told Dr. Evans your medication needed adjusting."

"Elena is alive," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet crackle of the fire.

Her hand froze midway to her mouth. The glass trembled just a fraction, a micro-expression of shock that she quickly buried. She slowly turned to face me, her eyes narrowing.

"What a tragic delusion. You need rest, Daniel."

"She’s alive, and so is my daughter," I continued, stepping into the light. "I know about the farmhouse. I know about Vance. I have the wire transfers, the fake coroner's report, and the audio of you ordering the hit."

Margaret’s mask finally slipped. The regal poise shattered, replaced by a venomous sneer. She set the glass down hard on the table.

"She was nothing!" Margaret hissed, standing up. "A gold-digging nobody! I was protecting you. I was protecting the Vance legacy. You were going to throw away everything we built for a woman who served coffee for a living!"

"She is my wife," I roared, stepping closer, my imposing height forcing her to step back. "And you are a murderer. You stole two years of my life. You chained the mother of my child in a basement like an animal."

"I did what had to be done," she spat, entirely unrepentant. "And you won't do anything about it. You are my son. You are a Vance."

"I am a Vance," I agreed softly. "Which is why I know exactly how to ruin you."

I pressed a button on my remote. The library doors burst open. Armed tactical officers flooded the room, their weapons raised.

"Margaret Vance," Commissioner Hale announced, stepping through the crowd. "You are under arrest for kidnapping, attempted murder, and conspiracy. You have the right to remain silent."

For the first time in her life, my mother looked terrified. As they slapped the cold steel handcuffs onto her wrists, she looked at me, pleading with her eyes.