My husband shoved me off an icy Colorado cliff when I was nine months pregnant because he believed my death was worth fifty million dollars. As I fell, I heard his mistress ask whether I was dead, and Victor laughed. By the next afternoon, he was standing beneath my photograph at a memorial service, telling everyone how much he loved me. What Victor didn’t know was that the snow had failed to bury me—and the man who pulled me out of it knew exactly why my husband needed me dead.
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