My stepdaughter kicked the jug away, slammed the oak door onto my burned arm, and hissed

High, barred windows let in narrow ribbons of pale afternoon light that sliced across the scratched linoleum floor, illuminating floating motes of dust. Sitting in a rigid plastic chair on the opposite side of a scratched plexiglass partition was Serena Mercer.

She wore a coarse orange jumpsuit that hung loosely on her frame. Her hair, once meticulously highlighted and styled by a Fifth Avenue salon, was now pulled back into a messy, unwashed ponytail. The expensive makeup was entirely gone, revealing sallow skin, dark circles beneath her eyes, and an expression of venomous, cornered desperation.

When the heavy steel door clicked open and Elena and Elias walked into the booth, Serena bolted upright, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.

She slammed her hands against the plexiglass partition, her face twisting into a mask of pure hatred.

“You!” Serena shrieked, her voice cracking against the glass. “You filthy, conniving little parasite! You and this gutter-rat street thug think you’ve won, don't you? You think you can lock me up in this hellhole while you play lord and lady in my father’s house?”

Elena didn't flinch. She sat down slowly in the visitor’s chair, folded her hands in her lap, and looked through the glass with a calm, unbreakable serenity.

“Hello, Serena,” Elena said softly. “You look... different orange really isn't your color.”

“Shut your mouth!” Serena screamed, pounding her fists against the partition until a corrections officer near the door stepped forward with a warning hand on his baton. Serena wheezed for breath, her wild eyes darting to Elias, who stood silently behind Elena like an immovable statue of judgment.

“And you,” Serena hissed, her voice dropping into a hoarse, trembling whisper. “You should have died in that Baltimore alley twelve years ago. You’re nothing. You’re a tramp’s bastard who crawled out of the dirt to steal what belongs to me!”

Elias stepped forward, leaning his hands on the metal table, bringing his face close to the plexiglass. His dark eyes were like chips of obsidian, completely devoid of fear or anger.

“My mother was an honest woman, Serena,” Elias said, his voice terrifyingly quiet and steady. “And my father spent the last three weeks of his life realizing what a monster he had invited into his home. But you don't have to worry about the estate anymore. We aren't here to talk about property.”

Serena froze, a flicker of genuine panic finally piercing through her rage. “What... what are you talking about?”

Elena reached into her portfolio and slid a single sheet of official court-sealed paper across the narrow metal ledge beneath the glass, turning it so Serena could read the bold header.

STATE OF NEW YORK vs. SERENA MERCER CHARGES: PREMEDITATED MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE — HOMICIDE VIA ADMINISTERED TOXIC AGENT.

Serena’s eyes scanned the legal terminology. The color drained completely from her face, leaving her skin the gray-white of wet ash. Her knees buckled, and she fell back into her plastic chair, her fingers clawing weakly at the orange fabric of her jumpsuit.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head frantically. “No... that’s a lie. The coroner... the death certificate said natural causes. You can't... you can't reopen that!”

“The coroner is currently cooperating with federal prosecutors in exchange for a reduced sentence,” Elias said coldly. “And the digitalis traces found in the exhumed tissue samples match the prescription logs from your personal pharmacy account. The trial starts in six weeks, Serena.”

Serena stared at the paper, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The illusion of absolute invincibility, of generational privilege, of untouchable wealth—all of it had shattered into dust against the cold reality of a prison cell.

“Please,” Serena whispered, her voice breaking into a pathetic, whimpering plea as she looked at Elena. “Elena... please. You know how my father was. He was impossible. He was suffocating me. I had to secure my future! If you drop these charges... I’ll sign away all claims, I’ll leave the country, you’ll never see me again—”

Elena stood up slowly, adjusting the lapels of her blazer. She looked down at the stepdaughter who had poured champagne over her head, broken her bones with a heavy oak door, and left her to die in the dirt.