My son wanted $100k for his startup plan, and I tu…

“We’ll be taking these for analysis,” he said.

Then he asked an unexpected question.

“Do you own any firearms?”

“Yes,” I said. “A pistol in my bedroom safe. Why?”

“We’ll need to examine that too.”

I led them upstairs and opened the safe. Thomas had insisted I keep the revolver for protection after a break-in at a neighboring ranch years ago. The weapon sat exactly where I had left it. I could not imagine what it had to do with a poisoning investigation, but they bagged it anyway, along with the ammunition.

When the search was over, Carter pulled me aside.

“Mrs. Vance, based on what we found today, you are now considered a person of interest. I strongly advise you to contact an attorney.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not at this time. But do not leave town without informing my office.”

After the police left, I walked through my house and saw it as though it belonged to someone else. Rooms photographed. Drawers opened. Surfaces tested. My sanctuary had been invaded, but that was not even the worst part. The worst part was the realization settling over me like lead.

Someone had planned this carefully.

Someone had placed evidence meant to point directly at me while building a believable story around it.

And the only person who had both the opportunity and the knowledge to help make that happen was my own son.

That night, I sat in my study with a glass of Napa cabernet and looked out at the oil derricks beyond the property line. Their steady mechanical rhythm had generated Vance wealth for three generations. For the first time since inheriting everything, I wondered whether the entire empire might be buried under my name before I ever had the chance to set it right.

I picked up the phone and called a number I had not used in five years.

“David Cross speaking.”

“David, it’s Eleanor. I need your help. Someone is trying to destroy me, and I believe it may be my own son.”

David had been my closest colleague through much of my career as a prosecutor. More importantly, he was one of the very few people who truly understood how my mind worked under pressure.

“Tell me everything,” he said at once. “Do not leave out a single detail.”