I found my husband in bed with my best friend at 2 AM, then typed the command that burned down the empire I built for him.

Two years to the day after I’d typed Execute Protocol Phoenix, I got a phone call from the warden of the federal prison where Grant was serving his sentence.

“Ms. Holloway,” he said, his voice serious. “I’m calling because Grant Holloway has asked to speak to you. He says it’s urgent. He says he has information about a threat against you and your brother. He won’t tell anyone else. He says he’ll only talk to you.”

I froze. A threat against me and Liam? What could Grant possibly know? He was in a maximum-security prison in Pennsylvania, with no access to phones or the internet except for monitored calls.

I thought about it for a day. Liam said I shouldn’t go—he said Grant was just trying to manipulate me, to get under my skin one last time. James said he’d come with me, that he’d wait outside the visiting room if I decided to go. In the end, I decided to go. I needed to know what he knew. If there was even a chance someone was going to hurt Liam, I had to find out.

I drove to the prison with James and two security guards Marcus had hired. The visiting room was cold and sterile, with plastic tables and glass dividers. I sat down on one side, and a few minutes later, Grant was led in by two guards.

He looked terrible. He was 40 years old, but he looked 60. His hair was almost completely gray, his face was gaunt and covered in wrinkles, his eyes were dead and hollow. He’d been in a lot of fights in prison—he had a scar across his left cheek, a broken nose, and his left hand was in a cast. He sat down across from me, staring at his hands, not saying a word.

“What do you want, Grant?” I said, my voice cold. “I don’t have all day.”

He looked up, and for a second, I saw a flash of the boy I’d fallen in love with—the boy who’d brought me pizza when my brother died, who’d stayed up with me all night when I was sick, who’d once told me I was the smartest, most beautiful girl in the world. Then it was gone, replaced by the same hollow, desperate look he’d had at the trial.

“I’m dying, Vivian,” he said, his voice cracking. “Lung cancer. Stage four. The doctors say I have three months, max.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel happy. I just felt nothing.

“I got in with the wrong crowd in here,” he said, staring at the table. “The Aryan Brotherhood. I owed them money for protection. I couldn’t pay. So they made me a deal. If I helped them plan a hit on you and Liam, they’d wipe the debt. They’re going to try to kidnap Liam next month, when he’s at the tech conference in San Francisco. They’re going to hold him for ransom, kill you both, and steal the $50M you have in your personal offshore account. One of the guards is in on it. He’s been smuggling them information about your schedules for months.”

I stared at him, my blood running cold. It made sense. Liam was speaking at a tech conference in San Francisco the next month. We’d only announced his schedule two weeks earlier. No one outside our inner circle knew the details.

“Why are you telling me this?” I said. “You hate me. You’ve spent two years telling everyone I ruined your life.”

He laughed, a dry, hacking sound that turned into a cough. When he stopped, there was blood on his hand. “Because I’m dying, Vivian. Because I’ve spent every day in here thinking about what I did. About how I threw away the only good thing I ever had. About how I hurt the only person who ever really loved me. I don’t want to die with this on my soul. I don’t want you or Liam to get hurt because of my stupid mistakes. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I know I’m going to hell for what I did. But this is the only good thing I can do before I die. The only way I can make even a tiny bit of it right.”

He slid a piece of paper under the glass. It had the names of the guard, the two hitmen the Brotherhood had hired, the date and time they planned to kidnap Liam, every detail he knew. “I already told the warden everything,” he said. “The FBI is on their way here now to take my statement. The guard is already in custody. But I wanted you to hear it from me. I wanted you to know I’m sorry. For everything.”

The guards came to take him away. He stood up, looking at me one last time. “Tell Liam I’m sorry too. He was right about me. I was a user. I didn’t deserve you. I hope you have a good life, Vivian. You deserve it.”

He walked away, and I never saw him again.

The FBI confirmed every detail of Grant’s story three days later. They arrested the guard, the two hitmen, and three leaders of the Aryan Brotherhood who’d planned the hit. Liam’s security team was doubled, the conference schedule was changed, and the threat was eliminated.

Grant died three months later, alone in the prison hospital. I didn’t go to his funeral. I didn’t send flowers. I just sat in my office, staring at the piece of paper he’d given me, and thought about the boy I’d once loved, and the monster he’d become. I didn’t forgive him. But I was grateful he’d done one good thing before he died. He’d saved my brother’s life. And that was enough.

That night, I sat on the fire escape of my West Village apartment with James, drinking wine, watching the sunset. I told him everything Grant had said. He held me tight, kissing the top of my head.