My husband sent me to prison, bla:ming me for causing his mistress’s miscarriage—something I never did. He never visited or called to check on me. The day I get out of prison will be… the day he loses everything.

Vivian had never been pregnant.

No ultrasound.

No miscarriage.

Nothing.

Just bruises she got after drunkenly falling outside a hotel.

“Why help me?” I asked carefully.

“Because your husband paid my supervisor to alter the files,” Mara answered. “Then blamed me when people started asking questions.”

So I waited.

Collected evidence.

Protected witnesses.

And slowly built the case that would destroy them.

Then came the video.

A dashcam outside a hotel parking garage captured Vivian stumbling drunk while speaking on the phone.

“I’ll blame Elena,” she laughed. “Marcus promised me half the company once she’s gone.”