MY FOUR-YEAR-OLD SON WAS FORCED TO KNEEL ON BURNING GRAVEL FOR THREE HOURS. MY FAMILY THOUGHT I WOULD STAY SILENT—UNTIL THEY DISCOVERED WHO REALLY OWNED THEIR HOUSE.

Three days later, Leo was finally discharged from the hospital.

I carried him into Gaston Manor in my arms. His legs were still wrapped in sterile white bandages from mid-thigh to mid-calf, but his fever was gone, and a faint smile had returned to his small face when he saw his favorite teddy bear waiting on his new bed in the master suite.

I had already begun transforming the house. The gaudy oil portraits of Celeste’s ancestors had been stripped from the hallway walls and stacked in the basement. The heavy, suffocating velvet drapes were replaced with sheer linen, letting the warm coastal sunlight flood the long-darkened corridors.

Downstairs, a team of landscapers was already hard at work in the front courtyard.

"Amelia!" Daniel called, walking through the French doors with a hardhat tucked under his arm. "The heavy equipment just arrived. The foreman wants to know if you're sure about this."

I walked out onto the front veranda, looking down at the long gravel driveway where my son had bled under the midday sun. Two massive bulldozers and an asphalt scraper were idling near the gates.

"Scrape it," I commanded. "Every single piece of crushed limestone and gravel. Dig down twelve inches, haul it to the landfill, and replace it with sod and rose beds. I don't want a single pebble left on this property."

"Consider it done," Daniel said with a grin.

As the roar of the diesel engines filled the air, my phone buzzed on the stone balustrade. It was an alert from the gatehouse security intercom.

"Ms. Gaston," the security officer’s voice crackled through the speaker. "We have a situation at the outer perimeter. A red Mercedes convertible just crashed into the security gate bollards."

My stomach dropped. "Who is driving it?"

"Brianna Gaston, ma'am. She appears to be severely intoxicated and armed with a golf club. She is attempting to climb the iron fence."

I rushed down the veranda steps toward the gate, Daniel hot on my heels.

When we reached the perimeter, Brianna was clinging to the wrought-iron pickets like a caged wild animal. Her designer dress was torn, her blonde hair was a matted bird’s nest, and mascara ran in grotesque black streaks down her cheeks. The front bumper of her car was crumpled against the steel crash post.

"Amelia! You bitch! You ruined my life!" she shrieked, swinging a nine-iron against the bars, sending ringing metallic clangs echoing down the street. "Julian won't answer my texts! My agency dropped me! Everyone is calling me a monster on the internet! Let me in! This is my house!"

Neighbors were already emerging onto their manicured lawns, recording the spectacle on their smartphones.

"Brianna, stop," I said, standing ten feet inside the closed gate. "The police have already been dispatched. You are violating the protective order. You’re going to jail."

"I don't care about your stupid order!" she screamed, her eyes wild with alcohol and hysteria. "You took everything from me! You were always the ugly, quiet shadow who was supposed to clean up after us! You were nothing! Your mother was nothing! And that bastard son of yours deserved every second he spent on those stones!"

A cold shudder ran through the onlookers gathered along the sidewalk. Several people audibly gasped at her vile words.

"You really don't understand, do you?" I said, looking at her with nothing but pity. "You were never royalty, Brianna. You and your mother were just thieves living in rented glory. And the rent is finally due."

Sirens wailed in the distance, rapidly growing louder. Within two minutes, three Savannah patrol cruisers swarmed the intersection. Four officers emerged with their tasers drawn, ordering Brianna to drop the club.

When she swung the metal club at an officer's cruiser windshield, they tackled her to the asphalt, pinning her arms behind her back. Her shrill screams of outrage were cut short as the steel handcuffs locked around her wrists.

As they dragged her into the back of the cruiser, she locked eyes with me through the window, screaming obscenities until the door slammed shut.

Daniel let out a long breath beside me. "That's felony assault on a police officer, reckless driving, DUI, and violation of a restraining order. She won't be seeing bail this time."