I let my ex-husband’s wealthy family treat me like a poor pregnant burden, because none of them knew I owned the company paying their salaries.

The press conference the next morning was held on the steps of the town courthouse. There were more people there than at the first one. Hundreds of reporters. Cameras from every network in the world. And behind them, lining the streets, were the people of the town. Hundreds of them. The families who’d lost kids. The workers who’d been laid off. The people who’d lived in fear of the Morrisons for a generation. They were holding signs.

JUSTICE FOR LUCAS

WE KNEW THE TRUTH

THANK YOU CASSIDY

I walked out of the courthouse doors and down the steps to the podium. The crowd went silent.

I didn’t have a speech.

I just had the truth.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice carrying over the crowd. “Three days ago, I stood in front of you and told you I was taking over the company that used to bear the Morrison name. I told you we were going to build something better. Something honest. What I didn’t tell you then — what I couldn’t tell you until I had proof — is why.”

I paused.

“Twenty years ago,” I said, “my mother was murdered. Her name was Elara Hale. She was twenty-eight years old. She worked as a secretary at the Morrison steel mill. She discovered that for years, the company had been dumping toxic waste into the river that supplies this town’s drinking water. She discovered that it was making our children sick. That it was killing them. Nine children died. Dozens more got sick. My mother was going to expose it. She was going to go to the press. To the police. To anyone who would listen. And because of that — Diane Morrison had her killed.”

A gasp went through the crowd.

“I have proof,” I said, holding up the thick stack of files Arthur was holding beside me. “Eyewitness testimony. Bank records. Confessions. Every single thing you need to know is here. Diane Morrison didn’t just steal two hundred million dollars from a children’s charity. She didn’t just embezzle from her own company. She murdered my mother. She killed nine children. And she spent twenty years bribing, blackmailing, and threatening anyone who might have told the truth.”

I looked out at the crowd. At Mrs. Carter, standing in the front row, crying. At Tom, standing beside her, his head held high.

“For twenty years,” I said, “the Morrison name stood for fear. For corruption. For the idea that if you had enough money and enough power, you could get away with anything — even murder. No more. Today, the files are being released to every law enforcement agency in the country. To every reporter. To every single one of you. Every secret. Every lie. Every crime. It’s all out there. And Diane Morrison? She’s going to spend the rest of her life in prison. Where she belongs.”

The crowd erupted. Cheering. Crying. Chanting my name.

I let them go on for a minute. Then I held up a hand. They quieted.

“I’m not doing this for revenge,” I said. “I’m doing it for justice. For my mom. For Lucas Carter. For all the kids who never got to grow up. For all the families who grieved alone because they were too scared to talk. And I’m doing it for the future. For my daughter. Who is going to be born in two months. Who is going to grow up in this town. And who is never, ever going to have to be afraid of anyone because of their name or their money.”

I smiled.

“Now,” I said. “Who’s ready to build something new?”

The cheering was deafening.

Later that day, the FBI announced they were filing first-degree murder charges against Diane Morrison. The state attorney general announced a dozen more charges — corruption, racketeering, manslaughter, environmental crimes. The mayor, three city council members, and two judges resigned in disgrace. The whole rotten system Diane had built came crashing down in a single day.

Brendan, facing the prospect of decades in prison for his role in the charity fraud, flipped. He agreed to testify against his mother in exchange for a reduced sentence. Ten years. No parole. He told the police everything. Every crime he’d seen her commit. Every secret he’d kept. He even testified that Diane had been planning to kidnap my daughter after she was born, to raise her as a “real Morrison” and use her to get the company back.

When I heard that, I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel surprised.

I just felt — empty.