THE TRILLIONAIRE'S WRATH: RISE OF THE FALLEN SON-IN-LAW

The soapy water in the bucket was a murky, swirling gray that smelled of cheap bleach and the sweat of a dozen other floors Thiago had scrubbed that day. He gripped the wooden mop handle, his knuckles white and skin cracked from the harsh chemicals. Every push against the cold marble floor sent a sharp, biting pain through his lower back.

He didn't stop. He couldn't.

Today was his fifth wedding anniversary. In the pocket of his faded work shirt, a small, worn-out velvet box held a simple silver band. It had cost him three months of double shifts, but it was all he could manage after his mother’s medical bills had sucked his bank account dry.

Just a few more hours, Thiago told himself, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. I’ll take her to that little diner she used to like. We can start over. We have to.

The heavy glass doors of the lobby swung open. The sound of sharp, expensive high heels clicking against the stone echoed like gunfire. Thiago didn't need to look up. He knew that rhythm.

Bernadette Hastings walked in, draped in a white fur coat that probably cost more than Thiago would earn in the next three years. Her arm was locked tightly with Henry McHampton, the man who owned this building—and the man who seemed to take a sick pleasure in watching Thiago fall.

Thiago stood up slowly, his joints popping. He tried to hide the bucket behind him. "Bernadette? What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at home."

Bernadette stopped, her eyes raking over his stained uniform with a look of pure disgust. She didn't move toward him. She stayed tucked under Henry’s arm, as if Thiago carried a plague.

"Home?" she asked, her voice high and mocking. "You mean that drafty farmhouse? I have a reputation to think about, Thiago. Henry is taking me to a real celebration at the Waldorf. I only came by to make sure you were actually working and not sleeping on the job."

Thiago felt a spark of heat in his chest, but he forced it down. "It’s our anniversary, Bern. I saved up. I have something for you."

Henry let out a short, bark-like laugh. He adjusted his silk tie and looked at Thiago like he was a bug on a windshield. "A gift? What could a janitor possibly give a woman like Bernadette? A new scrub brush? A gallon of industrial soap?"

"It’s a family heirloom," Thiago said, his voice straining to stay steady. "My father’s ring. I had it cleaned."

Bernadette rolled her eyes, leaning her head on Henry’s shoulder. "God, you’re so sentimental. It’s pathetic. Your father died a bankrupt loser, Thiago. Why would I want anything that reminds me of that? I need things that have actual value."

She reached up to her ear, unhooking a massive diamond earring that caught the light of the lobby chandeliers. She held it out over the gray, filthy bucket of mop water.

"See this?" she asked. "This is worth ten thousand dollars. Henry bought the set for me this morning because I felt like having something shiny. It’s worth more than your life."

"Bernadette, put that away," Thiago warned, a bad feeling settling in his gut. "The floor is wet. You’ll drop it."

"Oops," she said.

Her fingers opened.

The diamond plummeted, hitting the surface of the bleach-heavy water with a sickening plop. It sank instantly into the sludge at the bottom of the bucket.

Thiago stared at the bucket, his mind going blank for a second. "What is wrong with you? That’s ten thousand dollars!"

"Oh, I’m so clumsy," Bernadette said, though her face was twisted into a cruel grin. She looked at her manicured nails. "Tell you what, Thiago. If you reach in there and fish it out with your teeth—like the loyal dog you are—I’ll consider paying your mother’s hospital bill for the month. I heard the nurses are complaining about her lack of insurance again."

Thiago’s heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at the gray, chemical-filled water, then at his wife. "My mother is dying, Bernadette. You’re joking. You have to be joking."

"Do I look like I’m joking?" she snapped, her voice turning sharp. "Get on your knees. Fetch. If you want my mercy, you have to earn it."

Henry pulled out his phone, his thumb tapping the screen to start a video. "Go on, Henderson. Give us a show. I’ll even throw in a tip if you wag your tail."

Thiago looked around the empty lobby. He felt smaller than he ever had in his life. He thought of his mother, pale and hooked up to machines that hummed with the sound of money he didn't have. He thought of the sister he was failing to keep in school.

Slowly, painfully, Thiago lowered himself. The cold marble bit into his knees. He reached his hand into the freezing, stinging water. His fingers brushed the bottom, feeling the grit and hair and dirt he had scrubbed off the lobby floor.

As he fumbled for the earring, Henry leaned down, his expensive cologne masking the scent of the bleach.

"You really think you're getting out of this?" Henry whispered, his voice a low hiss. "The earring was just the bait, you idiot. The police are already pulling into the lot. We’ve already called it in. Theft of a high-value item, and the murder of my brother, don’t bother to get any lawyer because the knife used in stabbing him was found in your room and Bernadette? She’s going to tell them you attacked her in the lobby."

Thiago froze, his hand submerged in the filth. He looked up at Bernadette. She wasn't laughing anymore. She was looking at him with stone-cold eyes, adjusted her fur coat as if she were preparing for a performance.

"Why?" Thiago whispered. "I gave you everything I had."

"And that’s the problem," Bernadette replied, stepping back as the distant wail of sirens grew louder, bouncing off the glass walls of the tower. "You have nothing left to give. You’re a drain on my life, Thiago. It’s time to cut the dead weight."

The lobby was suddenly flooded with flashing blue and red lights. Two police officers burst through the doors, their hands on their holsters.

"There he is!" Henry shouted, pointing a finger at Thiago, who was still on his knees by the bucket. "He stole her jewelry and tried to assault her when she asked for it back! Look at him! He’s still trying to hide the evidence!"

Thiago tried to stand, his hand dripping with gray water, but the officers were on him in seconds. They slammed him face-down onto the wet marble he had just finished cleaning.

"I didn't do anything!" Thiago yelled, his face pressed against the cold stone.

Through the gap between the officers' legs, he saw Henry put an arm around a "crying" Bernadette. She tucked her head into Henry's chest, hiding her smile from the world.

"Happy anniversary, Thiago," Henry’s voice drifted over the sound of the handcuffs clicking shut. "Don't worry about the ring. I'll make sure Bernadette gets something much better to replace it."

As they dragged him toward the door, Thiago didn't beg. He didn't cry. He looked back at the bucket of dirty water, his eyes turning from a soft gray to a cold, hard silver. The man who had walked into the lobby that morning was dead.