Two hundred guests watched in horror as my brand-new husband Evan lunged at me in the middle of our own wedding reception, ripped the platinum key chain right off my neck, and tore the lace bodice of my gown because I’d refused to hand over the locked steel wedding-gift safe so his mother could empty it tonight to pay off his younger brother Blake’s gambling debts.

Blake leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

“What do you mean she’s not done?” I said. “She’s in handcuffs, Blake. On her way to a holding cell. Every asset she has is frozen. She has nothing left.”

“You don’t know my mother,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “She’s been planning for this for years. She always said if the feds ever came for her, she had a dead man’s switch. Something that would take everyone down with her—you, me, Evan, the foundation, the politicians… everyone.”

Rebecca was instantly alert. “What kind of dead man’s switch?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Blake said. “She never told me the details. But I heard her on the phone last week. She was talking to someone—some guy she called ‘The Cleaner.’ She said if she wasn’t free in seventy-two hours, he was to release everything. All the names. All the accounts. All the evidence of who paid off who. She said it would be the biggest political scandal in state history. That governors would resign. That senators would go to prison. That people would kill to keep it quiet.”

A chill went down my spine.

“Did she say where this evidence is?” Rebecca asked.

Blake shook his head. “No. But she said it’s somewhere no one would ever think to look. Somewhere ‘safe and sentimental.’ That’s the phrase she used—‘safe and sentimental.’ She laughed when she said it. Like it was a joke only she got.”

Safe and sentimental.

My mind raced. What did Victoria Carter consider sentimental? She wasn’t a woman who kept baby blankets or childhood drawings. She destroyed things that made her look weak.

“Evan,” I said. “Would he know?”

Blake nodded quickly. “Probably. Mom always told Evan everything. Well—almost everything. If there’s something sentimental she kept, it would be in the penthouse. In her private study. The room she kept locked even from us.”

“Evan’s not going to help us,” my father said. “You saw him in there. He’s broken.”

“He’ll help,” Blake said. “Because if my mother’s switch goes off, he goes down too. She’s got records of every deal Evan ever helped her with. Every wire transfer he signed. Every lie he told the accountants. Evan thinks he’s just a victim in all this, but he’s not. He’s been her right hand for ten years. If that switch flips, Evan’s going to prison for a very long time.”

Rebecca looked at me.

“We need to go to the penthouse,” she said. “Now. Before Victoria has a chance to call this Cleaner from jail. Before anyone else gets there.”

I looked at Blake.

“You’re coming with us,” I said.

He nodded. “I’ll drive. I know the security codes. I know where she hides the spare keys.”

Ten minutes later, we were speeding through the city in three black SUVs. Blake was in the front seat of my car, giving directions. My father sat beside me, holding my hand. Cole and two other security men were in the vehicles ahead and behind.

The city lights blurred past. I could see news helicopters circling above the hotel, their spotlights sweeping the streets. The whole city was talking about the Carter wedding that had turned into a FBI raid. But none of them knew about the dead man’s switch. None of them knew the real fight was just beginning.

“Tell me about this Cleaner,” I said to Blake.

He shook his head. “I never met him. I don’t even know his real name. Mom only ever called him that. From what I could tell, he’s the guy who makes problems disappear. Witnesses. Evidence. Bodies. She’s used him for years. Dad’s heart attack? I’m pretty sure The Cleaner was involved.”

My father’s grip on my hand tightened.

“If this Cleaner is as good as you say,” Rebecca said from the front passenger seat, “he’s probably already on his way to the penthouse. Victoria would have arranged for him to check the place within hours of her arrest. We’re racing him.”

Blake leaned forward. “Take the next exit. The service entrance to the building is on the west side. It has a separate elevator that goes straight to the penthouse. The main lobby will be swarming with reporters by now.”

We took the exit.

Five minutes later, we pulled into an underground parking garage. Blake keyed in a code at the security gate, and the arm lifted. We drove to the private elevator bay.

“Code is 041292,” Blake said. “Evan’s birthday. Mom used it for everything. Said it was the only date she ever remembered that didn’t make her angry.”

The elevator opened. We stepped inside. The ride up was silent. Thirty-four floors. Every second felt like an hour.

When the doors dinged open, we didn’t move.

The penthouse door was already ajar.