My hand shot to my waist, fingers closing around the small emergency release I’d hidden beneath my sweater. The parachute I’d strapped on before we left—the one Richard never noticed because he’d stopped really looking at me months ago.
The canopy deployed with a violent jerk, slowing my fall.
Tears streamed down my face as I floated toward the water below.
Above me, the helicopter banked smoothly away, Richard already moving on, already planning his next move.
He thought I was dead.
He thought he was free.
But what Richard didn’t know—what he couldn’t possibly know—was that I’d been three steps ahead of him for months.
And the trap I’d set was about to close.
What did I prepare that would destroy Richard’s perfect plan?
I hit the water hard.
Even with the parachute, the impact drove the breath from my lungs. Cold Pacific water closed over my head, and for one terrifying moment, I couldn’t find the surface. The parachute dragged me down, tangling around my legs, pulling me deeper.
My baby.
The thought burned through the panic.
I kicked violently, fingers fumbling for the release clips. The parachute harness fell away and I surged upward, breaking the surface with a desperate gasp.
The helicopter was already a dark speck against the evening sky, heading back toward land.
Back to the coast guard station where Richard would report a tragic accident.
Back to my lawyers, my accountants, my board of directors—all of whom would offer their condolences to my grieving husband.
Except they wouldn’t.
Because three months ago, I’d walked into the offices of Morrison & Chen, a legal firm that specialized in exactly one thing: protecting the assets of people who suspected their loved ones might kill them.
“I need to tell you something,” I’d said to Katherine Chen, the senior partner. “And I need you to help me set something in motion that only activates if I die under suspicious circumstances.”
Katherine hadn’t blinked. She’d simply picked up her pen.
“Tell me everything.”
I treaded water now, watching the coastline in the distance. My waterproof watch—the one with the GPS tracker I’d activated the moment Richard shoved me—glowed faintly on my wrist.
They would find me.
The private security team I’d hired was already tracking my location. In less than twenty minutes, a boat would arrive. I would be taken to a private medical facility where doctors I trusted would check on my baby.
And Richard?
Richard would go home to our Malibu estate.
He would pour himself a drink.
He would rehearse his grief.
And at exactly eight o’clock tonight, Katherine Chen would arrive at our door with two FBI agents and a warrant for his arrest.
