At my mother-in-law’s barbecue, my husband poured beer over my head as everyone laughed.

By Thursday, the Sterling house had ceased to be a castle; it was an interrogation room.

Vanessa Sterling walked into Ethan’s gym at dusk. The sound of leather hitting leather echoed through the high rafters as Ethan worked the heavy bag, his kicks snapping against the canvas with rhythmic, bone-rattling force.

I was sitting at the front counter, balancing the digital books for the gym’s accounts. When the bell above the door chimed, I looked up, expecting a client. Instead, I saw my sister-in-law, wrapped in an oversized trench coat, looking over her shoulder like a fugitive.

“Claire,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she pulled off her sunglasses.

Ethan stopped his combination, holding the heavy bag with one forearm. His eyes locked onto Vanessa, neutral and observant.

“You shouldn't be here, Vanessa,” I said softly. “Pendelton will claim you’re attempting to tamper with witnesses.”

“I don't care about Pendelton,” she said, her voice breaking. She walked toward the counter, digging an external hard drive from her purse and placing it between us. “Mark is insane. He’s completely lost his mind.”

I looked at the silver drive, then back at her. “What is this?”

“Three years of personal ledgers from Mark’s private server in the guest house,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “My mother told him to burn them. She’s trying to liquidate her grandmother’s jewelry collection in Zurich to pay off the bank before the federal indictment lands. But Mark... he’s planning something worse.”

Ethan walked over, wiping sweat from his forehead with a gym towel. “Define worse.”

“He hired two men,” Vanessa whispered, her voice dropping so low the hum of the neon lights almost drowned it out. “Old contacts from his college days. Men who do repossessions and ‘debt reconciliation’ for the docks. He thinks if he can destroy the digital drive you took from his laptop, the state won't have enough to hold him on the wire fraud charges.”

I felt a chill settle over my spine, but Ethan’s expression didn't change at all. He simply picked up the water bottle, took a measured sip, and set it down.

“He thinks physical evidence is the only copy,” Ethan murmured. “He really is an amateur.”

“Vanessa,” I said, looking at the girl who had spent years silently observing her mother’s cruelty without joining in, “why are you giving me this?”

“Because he would have killed you,” Vanessa said plainly, the tears finally spilling over. “If he had gotten away with Sunday, he would have escalated until you were dead in a car crash or an ‘accidental’ fall down the terrace stairs. He hated you because you were the only person in his life who never looked at him with fear. And I... I can't live in that house anymore. It’s poison.”

I reached across the wooden counter and covered her trembling hand with mine. “Thank you.”

“Take it to Marcus,” Vanessa said, backing away toward the door. “And Claire? Don't go back to your apartment tonight. Mark hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. He’s drinking again.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, Ethan picked up the hard drive, turned it over in his hand, and looked at me.

“We don't hide, Claire,” he said calmly.