My sister kicked my preg/nant stomach “just to hear the sound it made.” When I tried to confront her, my parents immediately shielded her. “Erica, talk to us, honey. Did she even say anything to you?” they pleaded— as my sister sobbed her way over and kicked me again, harder this time. I blacked out. When I didn’t wake up, they scoffed. “Enough pretending. Get up. Erica’s been through enough.” My father snapped, “Stand up now—or I’ll let her kick you again.” Then my husband walked in. Panic spread. The doctor followed. One quiet sentence changed everything: “The baby isn’t moving anymore.” My husband turned to them—and that’s when their real nightmare began.

Target 3: Erica Miller.

The Golden Child. The protected one.

Chen had hit the motherlode. Erica wasn’t just unemployed; she was a criminal.

The file contained photos of Erica selling prescription painkillers in a high school parking lot. But the smoking gun was a USB drive.

It contained security footage from an ATM camera near a hit-and-run accident that had happened six months ago. A young boy had been struck and left in a coma. The police had no leads.

The footage clearly showed Erica’s red convertible speeding away from the scene, with a shattered headlight and a dented bumper. Erica had claimed someone keyed her car in a parking lot. My parents had paid to have it fixed quietly at a cash-only body shop.

Michael held the USB drive in his hand. This wasn’t just revenge. This was justice for a family who didn’t even know who had hurt their son.

He put the drive into the final envelope. Addressed to the District Attorney’s office.

Michael sat back in his chair. He looked at the three envelopes. He wasn’t just seeking damages for our loss; he was seeking total obliteration.

The next morning, the first domino fell.

I was drinking coffee, staring blankly at the TV, when a news alert popped up on my phone.

“LOCAL SAFETY MANAGER FIRED, SUED FOR EMBEZZLEMENT AMIDST FEDERAL PROBE.”

The article detailed the raid on my father’s office. It mentioned millions in missing funds. It mentioned potential prison time.

I walked into the office and showed the phone to Michael.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just took a red marker and crossed David’s name off a list on his whiteboard.

“Two to go,” he said.