The wicked billionaire stepmother-in-law thought pushing her pregnant daughter-in-law from the balcony would look like an accident—until the family’s loyal butler caught her and calmly dialed 911.

Back at Highland Memorial, Arthur stood by the window of the fourth-floor corridor, watching the street below.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a silent notification from a specialized cellular sensor he had personally wired into the mansion’s alarm system decades ago.

Arthur checked the screen.

*ALERT: Perimeter breach, East Garden Gate. Library glass sensor triggered. Camera 4 offline.*

A cold, deliberate breath escaped his chest. Arthur did not panic. He did not run. He simply unlocked his phone and opened a secondary, encrypted surveillance application that routed through a hidden satellite link.

On the screen, four men dressed in tactical black gear and ski masks were moving swiftly through the darkened foyer of Vance Manor. One of them carried a portable sledgehammer; another carried two five-gallon containers of industrial accelerant.

Arthur’s phone suddenly rang. It was Julian.

“Arthur, where are you?” Julian’s voice was tense. “Sarah just fell asleep. The doctor says her contractions have finally stopped, but she needs total rest.”

“Master Julian,” Arthur said smoothly, his eyes never leaving the security feed on his screen. “I am stepping out to attend to a small domestic matter. Do not leave Sarah’s room. Keep the hospital security guards stationed outside her door.”

“Arthur, what’s going on? Is it Eleanor?”

“Your stepmother has dispatched a cleanup crew to Vance Manor,” Arthur said calmly. “They are currently attempting to destroy the grandfather clock in the foyer.”

Julian let out a sharp curse. “The hard drive! Arthur, they’re destroying the evidence! I’m calling SWAT right now—”

“Do not bother, Julian,” Arthur replied, his voice chillingly composed. “Let them swing their hammers.”

“What do you mean? If they destroy the drive, Sterling will get her off on reasonable doubt!”

“Master Julian,” Arthur said, a rare note of dry amusement coloring his tone. “Did you truly believe that a man who survived forty years in your father’s household would keep the original master drive inside a piece of hollow eighteenth-century furniture that any burglar could dismantle?”

Julian went silent on the line. “…Where is the drive, Arthur?”

“The drive is currently in the interior pocket of my suit coat,” Arthur said, lightly tapping his chest. “The unit inside the grandfather clock is a decoy containing nothing more than an encrypted looping reel of the late Mr. Vance’s garden parties from 2012. However, the men she sent are currently committing first-degree burglary, arson, and conspiracy to tamper with evidence on five different ultra-high-definition cameras that are streaming directly to the Highland Park Police Department’s tactical dispatch.”

On Arthur’s phone screen, the massive oak doors of Vance Manor were suddenly kicked inward with explosive force.

A dozen Highland Park SWAT officers, armed with assault rifles and ballistic shields, poured into the foyer like an avalanche.

*“POLICE! DROP THE WEAPONS! ON THE GROUND! DOWN ON THE GROUND NOW!”*

The four masked men dropped their tools in sheer panic, throwing their hands into the air as red laser sights danced across their tactical vests. Within thirty seconds, the entire crew was pinned to the marble floor, zip-tied, and disarmed.

Arthur watched as Detective Reyes entered the foyer, bent down, and retrieved the radio from the lead burglar’s belt.

Reyes pressed the transmit button. “Mrs. Vance? If you’re listening to this frequency, thank you for the extra counts of conspiracy, aggravated burglary, and attempted arson. We’ll be seeing you shortly.”

Arthur closed the app, slid his phone back into his pocket, and turned toward the hospital corridor.