THE GLASS HOUSE OF ROSES

The Fairview Maximum Security Facility for Women sat thirty miles inland, far away from the fresh sea breeze and sparkling ocean of the coast. Its thick concrete walls were stained with gray grime, and its narrow windows were crisscrossed with heavy iron bars.

In a small, windowless interrogation room in the basement level, Vanessa sat at a cold steel table.

She wore a faded, ill-fitting orange jumpsuit. Her hair, once styled with immaculate precision, was coarse and unwashed, pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her face was pale, thin, and hollowed by weeks of isolation, but her blue eyes still burned with a sharp, psychotic intensity.

Sitting across from her was her chief defense attorney, Edward Vance-Cross—a distant cousin of the family who had taken the case solely out of a desperate bid for notoriety.

"The prosecution's evidence is airtight, Vanessa," Cross said, rubbing his tired eyes. "The tape recording, the bank transfers, Pendelton's confession... there is zero chance of an acquittal. If we go to trial, you are getting life without parole."

Vanessa leaned forward, her steel handcuffs clinking sharply against the metal table.

"I don't care about the trial, Edward," Vanessa hissed, her voice a dry, raspy whisper. "I care about the child."

Cross frowned, looking at her with genuine unease. "What are you talking about?"

"Evelyn thinks she won," Vanessa whispered, a grotesque, unsettling smile slowly spreading across her pale lips. "She thinks she wiped me out of that house. But she forgot one thing."

Cross leaned back, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "What thing?"

Vanessa reached out her manicured hand—now rough and short-nailed—and tapped her temple twice.

"Clara wasn't the only one who made plans for that estate," Vanessa purred, her eyes widening with an unhinged, dangerous light. "Tell my brother to check the safety deposit box at the First National Bank in Zurich. The documents under the name 'Red Rose'."

Cross stared at her, a cold shiver running down his spine. "Vanessa... what did you put in Zurich?"