At my baby shower, my husband stole my $23,000 delivery fund and handed it to his mother in front of 50 guests.

Forty-eight hours later, the grand gates of the Rourke Estate were chained shut by the County Sheriff's Department.

A bright yellow NOTICE OF FORECLOSURE AND PUBLIC AUCTION sign was bolted directly to the white brick entrance columns.

Because the house had been used as collateral for the fraudulent business loans Diane had taken out using forged signatures, my legal team fast-tracked the default motion. With Diane back in jail without bail and Caleb turning state’s evidence, there was no one left to fight the legal injunction.

Chloe Rourke stood on the sidewalk outside the gates, surrounded by five designer suitcases containing her clothes, sobbing hysterically as news crews filmed the scene.

"They took everything!" Chloe wailed to a local news reporter. "My mother is in jail! My brother is testifying against us! They wouldn't even let me keep my sports car!"

"Is it true that your family stole $23,000 from a high-risk pregnant woman at her own baby shower?" the reporter asked, holding the microphone out.

Chloe panicked, covering her face with her designer handbag as she stumbled down the street toward an Uber.

Meanwhile, in the high-end shopping district of the city, Diane’s boutique real estate firm, Rourke Luxury Living, was officially shuttered. Federal marshals posted seizure notices across the front glass windows, changing the locks and hauling away computers, ledgers, and safe boxes for evidence.

Inside my hospital room, the TV was playing the live broadcast of the Rourke boutique seizure.

My father's old friend, Senator Richard Montgomery, walked into my room carrying a large bouquet of yellow sunflowers.

"You handled this like your father would have, Maya," Senator Montgomery said warmly, placing the flowers on the table. "Clean, precise, and completely within the boundaries of absolute justice."

"They thought because my father was gone, I had no foundation left to stand on," I said softly, looking at the television screen. "They thought I was weak because I stayed quiet while they insulted me at family dinners."

"Silence is often mistaken for weakness by arrogant people," the Senator noted. "Now, the District Attorney's office has enough evidence to ensure neither Diane nor Caleb will ever touch a corporate account again."

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain shot through my lower abdomen. I gasped, clutching the edge of the mattress.

The heart rate monitor beside my bed began to beep rapidly.