The smell of dried cedar always used to remind me of autumn afternoons in Vermont. Now, it smells like copper, sweat, and absolute ruin.

By Thursday morning, the story was no longer local news.

A leaked snapshot from a triage nurse’s phone showing the dashcam stills—Julian’s silhouette pinned over me on that wooden bench—had gone viral on social media overnight, accumulating millions of shares across Facebook, Twitter, and TikTok. Under the hashtag #JusticeForMaya, hundreds of thousands of people were demanding the maximum penalties for Julian and Evelyn Vance.

Protesters had gathered outside the iron gates of the River Road estate, holding signs that read *NO MORE SECRETS* and *TEAR DOWN THE BENCH*. Television news vans with towering satellite dishes lined both sides of the two-lane highway, completely blocking the delivery lane where Carl Henderson had parked his truck only thirty-six hours earlier.

Inside the hospital, Eleanor Cross returned to my room, accompanied by an elderly gentleman with sharp silver hair and a charcoal-gray suit that screamed quiet, undisputed authority.

"Maya, this is Judge Marcus Holloway," Eleanor introduced him. "He’s a retired probate judge whom the state court has appointed as the emergency receiver for the frozen Vance estate."

Judge Holloway bowed his head politely, stepping forward to shake my hand with immense care. "Mrs. Vance—or Maya. I have just signed the emergency freeze orders. Every personal and corporate account associated with Evelyn and Julian Vance has been placed under state receivership. Their debit cards have been canceled, their lines of credit revoked, and their private security personnel dismissed from the estate."

"What about Arthur Sterling?" I asked.

"Mr. Sterling resigned as their legal representative forty minutes ago," Eleanor said with profound satisfaction. "When the state racketeering warrants were served on his firm, he realized that continuing to represent them with funds derived from illegal concealment could lead to his own disbarment. Julian and Evelyn are currently being assigned counsel from the county public defender’s office."

A knock came at the door, and Detective Vance walked in, carrying a large cardboard evidence box.

"We just finished the secondary search of the estate," the detective said. "We seized the rattan cane from the conservatory. It was still sitting in a bucket of saline solution near the potting sink. We also found three additional jars of the exact commercial chili powder Evelyn used, along with the torn remains of your blouse stuffed into an incinerator chute that Julian forgot to ignite."

"Did they find Clara's things?" I asked quietly.

The room grew heavy. Detective Vance set the box down and pulled out a small, tarnished silver locket. "In the floorboards of the guest cottage. It has Clara Bennett’s initials engraved on the back. Inside is a handwritten letter she wrote to her sister, detailing Julian's violence, dated two days before she drowned. The Lake Placid cold case unit has officially reopened her death as a suspected homicide."

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked at the little silver heart. Clara had died alone in the dark, forgotten by the world, buried under a mountain of Vance family money and political favors. But she wasn't forgotten anymore. Her voice, preserved in that hidden locket, was going to speak right alongside mine.

"The dangerousness hearing is tomorrow morning at nine," Eleanor said, checking her watch. "The defense’s new court-appointed attorney has requested an immediate dismissal of charges based on lack of direct physical identification of the assailants in the video."

"Can they actually get the charges dismissed?" I asked, fear tightening my throat once more.

"Not a chance," Eleanor said firmly. "Because you are going to be there, Maya."

Dr. Ross, who was standing near the door monitoring my vitals, shook his head. "Eleanor, she can barely stand. Her back is covered in healing tissue. She can't sit in a hard courtroom chair for four hours."

"I don't need her to sit for four hours," Eleanor replied, her gaze locking onto mine with fierce determination. "I need her to roll into that courtroom in a wheelchair, look Judge Thornton in the eye, and let him see exactly what Evelyn Vance's hospitality looks like. If Maya is willing."

I looked down at my hands. They were still bruised, my fingernails still carrying faint red traces of the dust I had been forced to touch. But my spine felt stronger than it had in three years of marriage.