My new wife’s seven-year-old daughter burst into tears every time we were left alone together. Whenever I gently asked her what was wrong, she would only shake her head silently. My wife would just laugh it off and say, “She simply doesn’t like you.”

Lucas created a fake contact, a fixer named Grant Hale, and made sure Clara “accidentally” saw the name on my laptop.

She took the bait within hours.

Using a burner phone, she contacted Grant.

Her messages were colder than I expected, even after everything.

“My husband is dangerous,” she wrote. “He abused my daughter and set the fire to kill us. I need him gone before he takes custody. It has to look like suicide. I can pay $50,000 cash. There is a million-dollar policy.”

Lucas and I watched the messages appear on the screen.

“She choreographs misery,” he muttered.