I never told my parents I was a federal judge. To them, I was still “the school dropout failure,” while my sister was the golden child. Then she took my car and committed a hit-and-run. My mother grabbed my shoulders and yelled, “You don’t have a future anyway! Let’s just say you were driving!” I stayed calm and quietly asked my sister, “Did you cause the accident and then flee?” She replied, “Yes, I did. Who would believe you? You look like a criminal.” That was enough. I took out my phone. “Open the court,” I said. “I have the evidence.”
Chapter 2: The Cold-Blooded Offer
I ran up the stone steps just as my sedan’s headlights swung wildly down the driveway, illuminating the ancient oaks like a chaotic strobe light. The car hurtled down the slope, the engine coughing and rumbled, before coming to a violent, jerky stop. It missed the closed garage door by less than three inches. Automobilesand vehicles
The driver’s side door opened and Chloe stumbled out, almost tripping over her own feet. She was wearing a sequined cocktail dress that was now ripped at the shoulder, her blonde hair a tangled mess. The smell of expensive gin and raw panic emanated from her in waves.
