When my shaking ten-year-old begged me to hurry home, I had no idea a nightmare was waiting. I raced inside to find my husband and child cold and motionless on the living room rug. Paramedics rushed in, but the lead officer grabbed my arm, shaking his head. “Ma’am, this wasn’t an accident…”

is frozen.”

“Execute all of it,” I commanded, staring straight ahead at the exit doors. “And contact the life insurance broker immediately. Cancel his policy. I refuse to receive a single, blood-stained penny when he finally dies. I want him to live a long, agonizing life possessing absolutely nothing.”

Part 6: The Locksmith

Six Months Later.

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