*SLIP.*
I dropped the diamond ring onto the back of Daniel Whitaker’s neck:
*TINK.*
“You told Judge Hanley forty minutes ago that I pull this every time I don’t get my way, Daniel,” Clara Bennett whispered softly.
Every syllable fell like an un-appealable epitaph that sealed eight years of dynastic treason into solid rock forever:
“You were right.”
“I didn’t get my way.”
“I wanted an honest husband.”
“I wanted a father who didn’t poison his daughter’s mother.”
I leaned down until my clear, un-blinking hazel eyes filled his entire field of vision:
“There is an extended-stay federal correctional facility down in Terre Haute, Indiana, Daniel.”
“The high-security unit.”
“I hear the commissary rate for clean sheets… is precisely twenty-four dollars a month.”
“I suggest you get used to cold water and orange jumpsuits, Daniel.”
“Because around here…”
A slow, radiant, permanent smile broke across Clara Bennett’s face:
