When you die, my son can finally marry a woman who will actually give him children.”

The red-and-blue emergency lights of the Paradise Valley Police Department painted frantic geometric patterns across the soaring white stucco walls of the Preston estate.

By 2:00 AM, the master bedroom had been secured by county wildlife officers who extracted the angry four-foot western diamondback from beneath the down comforter using heavy canvas tongs, dropping it into a reinforced transport crate with a sharp, metallic clack.

Downstairs, the living room looked less like a home and more like an impromptu precinct command center.

Two uniformed officers stood near the kitchen entrance, while Detective Sergeant Vance—no relation to the disgraced logistics director Nora had fired earlier that week—flipped through a notepad while standing over Edgar.

Edgar sat slumped in an armchair, his nose packed with gauze, an ice pack pressed against his swollen cheek where he had struck the coffee table during Miller’s tactical tackle. His designer suit was wrinkled and stained with his own blood.

Kristina had been relegated to a distant corner chair, wrapped in a woolen throw blanket, rocking back and forth while muttering about ungrateful daughters-in-law.

Nora sat on the opposite side of the room, flanked by her attorney, Daniel Moore, who had arrived twenty minutes earlier wearing a sharp charcoal suit that looked entirely too professional for a middle-of-the-night police interrogation.

Daniel slid a certified copy of the digital audio recording across the mahogany table toward the detective.

“That file contains the unabridged conversation between my client, her husband, and her mother-in-law,” Daniel said, his voice clipped and formal. “It includes explicit admissions regarding a premeditated plot to utilize a venomous reptile to cause fatal bodily harm, executed in tandem with a twenty-five-million-dollar fraudulent life insurance beneficiary setup.”

Detective Vance picked up the flash drive, his expression grim. He looked across the room at Edgar. “Mr. Finch, your attorney has been notified, but I have to tell you, the audio transcript my dispatch just pulled from the cloud backup is remarkably clear. Your wife’s voice is steady. Yours is very distinct.”

Edgar didn’t look up. He stared blankly at his blood-stained shoes. “I want to speak to my lawyer,” he mumbled, his voice thick through the gauze.

“You’ll have all the time you need to speak with counsel down at the Maricopa County jail,” Detective Vance replied dryly. He nodded to the two uniformed officers. “Take him and the mother. Book them both under conspiracy to commit first-degree murder and insurance fraud.”

As the officers hauled Edgar to his feet, he finally raised his eyes. They weren't filled with remorse or fear. They burned with a bitter, pathetic hatred.

“You’ll ruin everything we built, Nora,” Edgar spat as they dragged him toward the double doors. “Preston Materials will collapse without my signatures on the commercial credit lines! The board will eat you alive!”

Nora didn’t even blink.

“My signature was the only one that mattered, Edgar,” she said softly. “You were just the signature stamp I let borrow my pen.”

The heavy oak door swung shut, locking behind them with a definitive click.

Silence settled back over the expansive room, broken only by the distant hum of the desert wind rattling the outdoor palm fronds.

Daniel Moore adjusted his glasses, turning to look at his client. “Well, Nora. That certainly expedites our weekend schedule. What are your instructions regarding the company accounts?”

Nora stood up, walking slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out over the sparkling lights of the valley below. The storm had cleared, leaving behind a sky brilliant with cold, distant stars.

“Freeze every personal account tied to Edgar or his mother immediately,” Nora instructed, her voice steady and resolute. “Review every corporate disbursement from the past three years. If Edgar funneled a single dime of company capital into Heather Perkinson’s accounts, I want an asset recovery suit filed before sunrise.”

“Consider it done,” Daniel said, standing up and closing his leather briefcase. “And what about your travel schedule for next week? You’re scheduled to fly to the Santa Fe distribution yard on Monday.”