Chapter 1

The email from the lawyer was short, professional. My Great Aunt Mildred, a woman I' d met twice in my thirty years, had passed away. I was the sole beneficiary of her life insurance policy, five million dollars.

Five million.

I read it three times, my heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Lily, my three-year-old, tugged at my jeans. "Mommy, juice?"

I scooped her up, laughing, burying my face in her soft curls. "Juice, and cookies, and a pony, sweetie. Mommy can buy you a pony."

Mark, my husband, was due home any minute. I couldn' t wait to see his face. This money, it would change everything. We could pay off the mortgage, start Lily' s college fund, maybe even take that trip to Italy he always talked about.

The bank called an hour later, confirming the funds were now in my account. It felt unreal.

I was in the kitchen, Lily playing in the living room, when I heard the thud. Not a loud thud, but a sickening one.

Followed by silence.

"Lily?"

I ran. The balcony door, the one Mark had promised to fix the latch on for weeks, was open.

My little girl was on the patio below, still, a terrible angle to her neck.

The world went silent, then roared.

I don' t remember calling 911, or my mother, Linda. I only remember the sirens, the flashing lights, the cold dread.

Linda arrived, her face a mask of horror, and took charge. She insisted on driving me to the hospital, said I was in no state.

We were on the highway, the city lights blurring through my tears. Linda was talking, trying to soothe me, but her words were just noise.

Then, headlights, blinding, coming straight for us on our side of the road.

A deafening crash, twisting metal, shattering glass.

Pain, then nothing.

Darkness.

Then, strangely, I was floating. Looking down.

I saw the wreckage, my mother slumped over the wheel, me beside her, unmoving.

It wasn' t a dream. I was dead. Lily was dead.

A cold, empty feeling spread through me, heavier than any grief.

Then I was somewhere else, or perhaps my awareness simply shifted. I saw Mark. He was at our home, talking to the police. His face was etched with sorrow, his shoulders slumped. He looked like a broken man.

My heart ached, even in this strange, disembodied state. Poor Mark. He' d lost his daughter, now his wife.

Then his mother, Karen, arrived. She put her arm around him.

The police officers left.

Mark' s grief-stricken face crumpled, then, slowly, horrifically, it changed.

The sorrow melted away, replaced by a smirk. A small, ugly, triumphant smirk.

He looked at Karen. "It' s done."

Karen' s severe face relaxed into a smile that was just as chilling. "Perfect. And the money?"

"All mine now," Mark said, his voice smooth, confident. "Five million. Enough for me and Jessica, and our new baby."

Jessica. His pretty, young assistant. I' d had suspicions, a sick feeling I' d pushed down.

Jessica walked into the living room then, her hand resting on a visibly pregnant belly. She kissed Mark, a long, possessive kiss.

"We need to be careful," Karen said, her voice sharp. "Appear devastated. No one can suspect a thing."

"Of course, Mother," Mark said, his arm around Jessica. "Sarah was so careless with Lily. And that accident with Linda driving... tragic, but these things happen."

He laughed. A low, cruel sound.

They had killed my daughter. They had killed my mother. They had killed me.

For money.

Rage, black and absolute, consumed me. If I' d had a body, I would have screamed until my lungs burst.

I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them to pay.

Then, the darkness pulled at me again, but this time, it felt different. Not an ending, but a shift.

A new thought, sharp and clear, cut through the fury: I will make them pay.