My sister was standing at the altar in a white satin wedding dress when the woman everyone thought had died stepped through the ballroom doors.

The visiting room at Cook County Jail smelled of industrial disinfectant and stale floor wax.

I sat on one side of the reinforced glass partition, waiting quietly. A few moments later, the heavy metal door clicked open, and two guards escorted Juliette into the room.

She looked unrecognizable.

Gone was the white satin wedding dress, the emerald necklace, and the flawless makeup. She wore a standard orange jumpsuit, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her face pale and drawn from sleepless nights behind bars.

When she sat down on the other side of the glass and picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver, her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

I picked up my receiver and held it to my ear.

For a long minute, neither of us spoke. We just stared at each other through the thick glass—two sisters separated by a chasm of fire, betrayal, and unbridgeable time.

"Are you happy?" Juliette finally whispered, her voice cracking with suppressed rage and humiliation. "Did destroying my life fix yours?"

"Your life wasn't destroyed by me, Juliette," I replied calmly, my voice steady. "It was destroyed by your own greed. You couldn't stand the thought of sharing an empire you didn't build, so you tried to burn me alive."

A tear slipped down Juliette’s cheek, cutting a clean trail through the dust on her face. "Dad abandoned me. Preston already has a high-priced defense attorney trying to pin the entire arson plot on me. I have nothing left, Caroline."

"You have a trial coming up," I said coldly. "And a very clear path to reflect on what you did."

Juliette leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the glass partition. "Please... you own the company now. You have all the power. Drop the charges. Tell the prosecutor it was a misunderstanding. We’re sisters, Caroline!"

I looked at her—really looked at her—and remembered standing on that second-story balcony seven years ago, watching the flames rise toward the bedroom ceiling while my own sister locked the door from the outside.

"The last time I heard you call me sister, Juliette," I said softly, "was when you locked that deadbolt."