I was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for my billionaire adoptive father’s death. As the guards prepared to take me away, my mother-in-law pretended to cry while my husband gently rested his hand on his pregnant mistress’s belly. They believed they’d stolen my freedom and gained control of a nearly $5 billion empire. I simply smiled and revealed one name: “Clara Thorne.” My husband’s expression changed instantly. Seconds later, the prosecutor shouted, “Stop the transfer!” But the secret surrounding his first wife’s disappearance five years earlier was only the beginning…

My transfer to Bedford Hills was scheduled for ten o’clock the following morning.

I sat on the edge of the steel bunk, wearing an orange jumpsuit that was three sizes too large, my back pressed against the weeping concrete wall. I had not touched the plastic tray of food the guards had slid through the slot four hours ago.

At eight o’clock in the evening, the heavy steel door of the interview tier groaned open.

“Vance,” the guard barked, rattling his heavy ring of keys against the bars. “Special executive visit. Five minutes.”

I stood up slowly, smoothing the wrinkles from my canvas trousers.

When I stepped into the glass-partitioned visitor booth, three people were already sitting on the other side of the scratched polycarbonate divider.