Brett Ellison had built his life on pattern recognition. As a forensic accountant for the FBI, he’d spent fifteen years tracking criminals through their financial footprints, finding the threads others missed. At forty-two, he was at the top of his field—meticulous, calculated, and nearly impossible to deceive. Which made what happened on Valentine’s Day all the more ironic.
The bouquet arrived at 2:00 p. m. , delivered to the bureau’s Philadelphia field office. White oleander blooms, intricately arranged with baby’s breath and dark greenery.
The card read simply: “To my amazing husband. Happy Valentine’s Day. All my love, Amber. ”
His colleagues ribbed him good-naturedly.
“Ellison’s getting soft,” joked Tony Greer from the next cubicle. “Your wife that you wrapped around her finger. ”
Brett smiled, but something felt off. Amber wasn’t the romantic gesture type.
In seven years of marriage, she’d never sent flowers to his office. She usually forgot Valentine’s Day altogether, claiming it was a capitalist scheme. Last year, she’d been annoyed when he’d made dinner reservations. He was still puzzling over this when Lucille Hayden walked past his desk.
Lucy was the office administrator, a sharp woman in her early thirties who’d left medical school in her final year after her father’s sudden death forced her to take over the family finances. She and Brett had become friends. She appreciated his methodical mind, and he valued her medical knowledge, which had proven useful on several cases. Lucy stopped mid-stride, her face draining of color as she looked at the flowers.
“Brett. ” Her voice was tight, controlled. “Don’t touch those again. ”
He looked up, surprised by her tone.
“What? ”
She grabbed his arm, her grip urgent. “I need you to trust me right now. Wash your hands thoroughly.
Then we’re going to the hospital. ”
“Lucy, what are you—”
“Brett, I can’t explain here, but if I’m right, you’re in serious danger. Please. ”
Brett had learned to trust his instincts about people.
Lucy wasn’t dramatic. She didn’t panic. The genuine fear in her eyes made his decision. Five minutes later, they were in his car heading to Jefferson Hospital.
Lucy had carefully transferred the flowers into a plastic evidence bag from his desk using gloves, refusing to explain until they were alone. “Oleander,” she said finally, her hands shaking slightly. “Those are oleander flowers, Brett. Every part of that plant is deadly toxic.
Even the pollen—if you inhale deeply when you open that box, if you touch your face after handling them. ”
Brett’s mind raced. “People send oleander all the time. Florists—”
“No, they don’t.
Not white oleander. Not pure like that. It’s too dangerous. Any legitimate florist would never use them in an arrangement.
They’d use something that looks similar but safe. These are real, Brett. I recognize them immediately. We had a case study in medical school about a child who died after putting a single leaf in his mouth.
”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Amber wouldn’t. ”
“I’m not making accusations, but someone sent you those flowers knowing what they were. And if it wasn’t your wife, you need to find out who did.
”
The emergency room physician, Dr. Reginald Wallace, took Lucy’s warning seriously. After a quick examination and blood draw, he started Brett on activated charcoal as a precaution. “Your friend likely saved your life,” Dr.
Wallace said, reviewing the preliminary results. “You have elevated cardiac markers consistent with early oleander toxicity. Another few hours and we’d be looking at serious arrhythmia, possibly cardiac arrest. ”
Brett sat on the hospital bed, the reality sinking in.
Someone had tried to kill him. Not in a crime of passion, but methodically, deliberately—sending flowers, a gesture that would seem innocent, loving, even, to deliver poison. Lucy stood by the window, arms crossed. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.
How’s your marriage? ”
“Fine,” Brett said automatically. Then he stopped. “Was it fine?
”
The truth was he’d been so focused on a major case tracking a trafficking network’s money laundering operation that he’d barely been home in months. When he was there, Amber seemed distant. She’d started going to the gym obsessively, bought new clothes, changed her hair. He’d assumed she was just reinventing herself like she did every few years.
“We’ve been married seven years,” he said slowly. “Met through mutual friends. She’s a pharmaceutical sales rep. Travels a lot.
We’ve been living parallel lives, I guess. Not bad, just separate. ”
“Life insurance? ” Lucy asked.
The question hit him like a slap. “Two million dollar policy. We both have them. ”
“Any financial problems?
”
“No, I make good money. She makes decent money. We’re comfortable. ”
Lucy pulled up a chair.
“Brett, I’m sorry, but you need to think like an investigator now, not a husband. Who benefits if you die? ”
He wanted to defend Amber, but his training kicked in. “She gets the insurance payout, the house.
It’s in both our names, but I paid most of the mortgage. My pension benefits, my savings. ” He paused. “Maybe three million total.
”
“That’s motive,” Lucy said gently. “But the flowers came with her name. That’s too obvious, too. ”
“If she wanted me dead, she’d be smarter than that.
”
“Unless she thought no one would catch it. Most people wouldn’t recognize oleander. You get sick, your heart fails, and doctors would likely rule it natural causes. Especially for someone your age with a stressful job.
Without me seeing those flowers—without knowing what they were—you’d be another sad statistic. ”
Brett’s mind was already working, shifting into investigator mode. “I need to check something. ” He pulled out his phone and called a contact at the bureau’s digital forensics lab.
“Miguel, I need you to pull my home security camera footage from this morning. Send it to my encrypted email. Yes, now. It’s urgent.
”
While they waited, Dr. Wallace returned with more test results. “Good news is we caught it early enough. You’ll need to stay overnight for monitoring, but you should make a full recovery.
”
Brett’s phone buzzed. The footage had arrived. He and Lucy watched the video together on his phone. At 9:47 a.
m. , a delivery van pulled up—but it wasn’t a commercial florist. It was a rental van. The driver wore a baseball cap pulled low, sunglasses, and gloves.
He left the box on the porch and drove away quickly. “Run the plates,” Lucy said. Brett was already doing it. “Rental from Enterprise.
Rented yesterday afternoon. ” His blood went cold. “Dale Cologne. ”
“Who’s that?
”
Brett’s jaw clenched. “Amber’s regional manager. I met him twice at company events. Arrogant guy, maybe thirty-five.
Always seemed too friendly with my wife. ”
The pieces were falling into place. And Brett didn’t like the picture they formed. Brett convinced Dr.
Wallace to let him make some calls from the hospital room, claiming he needed to arrange work coverage. In reality, he was activating a different kind of investigation—one that was entirely off the books. He started with his friend Seth Bradshaw, a private investigator who’d worked with the bureau on contract cases. “Seth, I need eyes on my wife.
Discreet surveillance. I’ll pay whatever. ”
“When you say your wife—”
“I mean, I need to know where she goes, who she meets, everything. Starting now.
”
“Jesus, Brett, what’s going on? ”
“Can’t explain yet. Can you do it or not? ”
“For you?
Of course. Give me her details. ”
Next, Brett called another contact, Zack Carson, a tech specialist who’d helped him trace digital footprints on countless cases. “Zack, I need a deep dive on someone’s digital life.
Phone records, emails, social media, everything. ”
“Who’s—Brett? ”
Gave him Amber’s information and Dale Cologne. “Brett, if this is for a case, you know, I need proper warrants.
”
“It’s not for a case. It’s personal. And I need it fast. ”
There was a pause.
“How fast? ”
“Twenty-four hours. ”
“I’ll see what I can do. ”
Lucy had been listening, concern etched on her face.
“Brett, you’re playing with fire here. If you’re wrong—”
“I’m not wrong. ” He looked at her. “My wife sent me poisonous flowers delivered by her boss.
Even if there’s a one percent chance I’m right about what’s happening, I need to know. ”
By evening, Seth called back. “Your wife left your house at 4:00 p. m.
She drove to the Written House Hotel. She’s currently in room 1247. She’s not alone. ”
Brett closed his eyes.
“Who’s with her? ”
“Can’t confirm from here, but a man matching Dale Cologne’s description entered the same room twenty minutes after she did. ”
The betrayal cut deeper than he expected. He’d suspected, but confirmation was different.
“Stay on her. I want to know everywhere she goes, everyone she meets. ”
Zack’s report came through at midnight. Brett was still in the hospital, connected to monitors, but his mind was wide awake.
Lucy had stayed, bringing him coffee and sitting vigil like a concerned friend. The digital forensics were damning. Amber and Dale had been exchanging messages for eight months. The communications had been deleted from their primary devices, but Zack had recovered them from cloud backups and metadata.
The messages were explicit—sexually and criminally. They’d been planning his death for three months. “Once he’s gone, we’ll have everything,” Amber had written. “Three million to start our life together.
”
“The oleander is perfect,” Dale had replied. “Natural plant toxin, hard to detect. We just need to make sure he handles them. ”
“He will.
I know him. He’ll be touched that I remembered Valentine’s Day. He’ll probably keep them on his desk all day. ”
Brett read through the messages, each one a knife twist.
But underneath the pain, something colder was forming—something calculating. They tried to kill him using poison. They planned it meticulously, and they thought they were smarter than him. They were wrong.
“Lucy,” he said quietly. “I need you to do something for me. Something that might get you in trouble. ”
She looked at him steadily.
“What do you need? ”
“I need you to help me die. ”
Lucy stared at him. “You want to fake your death?
”
“Not fake. I want them to think the poison worked—just slower than they planned. ” Brett’s mind was racing now, piecing together a strategy. “Dr.
Wallace said oleander poisoning can cause cardiac arrest. What if I have a medical emergency tomorrow? What if I’m rushed to ICU and then don’t make it? ”
“Brett, that’s insane.
You’re talking about—”
“I’m talking about making them think they won. Let them get comfortable. Let them make mistakes. Meanwhile, I’ll be building a case that puts them away forever.
”
Lucy paced the room. “Even if we could pull that off—and I’m not saying we can—you need death certificates, hospital records, funeral arrangements. The FBI would investigate. ”
“Your colleague, Tony Greer—he owes me.
I saved his career three years ago when he got caught up in a bad investigation. And I have other people who’d help if I explained. ” Brett sat up, animated now. “Dr.
Wallace seems like a good man. If I told him someone tried to murder me—if I showed him the evidence—he’d be risking his medical license to catch a murderer. Some people still believe in justice. ”
Lucy stopped pacing.
“You’re seriously going to do this. ”
“They tried to kill me. They planned it for months. And if I just arrest them now, what do we have?
Circumstantial evidence. Deleted messages. A flower delivery. A good defense attorney could argue coincidence.
Claim the messages were taken out of context. Say the florist made a mistake. They’d walk. ”
“So you want to trap them into revealing themselves.
”
“I want them to confess. I want them to celebrate my death, to plan their future with my money, to show their true colors. And then I want to take everything from them. ”
Lucy sat down heavily.
“This is crazy. ”
“Will you help me? ”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Your wife tried to murder you with flowers.
Yeah, I’ll help you haunt her. ”
The next morning, Dr. Wallace listened to Brett’s plan with growing concern. But when Brett showed him the messages, the evidence, the physician’s expression hardened.
“My sister was murdered by her husband,” Dr. Wallace said quietly. “He got away with it because the evidence wasn’t strong enough. I won’t let that happen again.
” He looked at Brett. “But we do this right. Legal enough that it won’t blow back on anyone helping you. ”
They spent the day choreographing Brett’s death.
Dr. Wallace had a colleague, Dr. Marcia Bullock, who specialized in cardiology. She agreed to help after seeing the evidence, particularly moved by the calculated cruelty of the poisoning method.
That evening, Brett’s heart monitor suddenly went haywire. Nurses rushed in. Dr. Wallace and Dr.
Bullock worked frantically. At 8:47 p. m. , Brett Ellison was pronounced dead from cardiac arrest secondary to acute toxic exposure.
The death certificate was real, signed by Dr. Wallace and filed with the state. But Brett was very much alive, moved to a private room in a closed wing of the hospital under an assumed name, monitored by the minimal staff who knew the truth. Tony Greer, who’d been read into the plan, made the notification to Amber personally.
Seth Bradshaw, positioned outside the Written House Hotel, recorded everything. Amber’s reaction when Tony arrived at the hotel room was Oscar-worthy. She collapsed, sobbing, clutching Dale’s arm for support. “No, no, please, not Brett.
”
But after Tony left, after they thought they were alone, Seth’s audio surveillance caught something different. “It worked. ” Amber’s tears were gone. “Oh my god, Dale, it actually worked.
”
“I told you it would. Now we just need to wait a respectable amount of time. ”
“Then I’m not waiting. I’m filing a life insurance claim tomorrow.
We can say I need the money for funeral expenses. ”
“Baby, slow down. We need to be smart about this. ”
“I’ve been smart for seven years pretending to love that boring man.
I’m done waiting. ”
Brett listened to the recording with Tony and Lucy in his hospital room. His expression unreadable. “I’m sorry, man,” Tony said.
“I know hearing that can’t be easy. ”
“It’s clarifying,” Brett replied. “Now we know exactly who we’re dealing with. ”
The funeral was scheduled for six days later—enough time for Amber to file the insurance claim and for Brett to watch his own life dissolve.
From his hospital room, coordinating with his small team of allies, Brett orchestrated an elaborate surveillance operation. Seth had bugs planted in Brett and Amber’s house. Zack was monitoring all of Amber and Dale’s communications. Tony was feeding them information about the investigation into Brett’s death, keeping them calm.
What emerged was worse than Brett had imagined. Amber had been planning this for over a year, not three months. She’d researched methods of undetectable murder, consulted with Dale about his access to pharmaceutical knowledge through his job. They considered and discarded multiple options before settling on oleander.
But there was more. The messages revealed that Amber had stopped taking her birth control six months ago, hoping to get pregnant. Not with Brett’s child—with Dale’s. “Imagine,” she’d written, “if I’d gotten pregnant before we did it, and I’d be stuck pretending it was his.
Thank God that didn’t happen. ”
Brett felt physically ill reading it. He’d wanted children. Amber had always claimed she wasn’t ready, needed more time.
The betrayal compounded on itself. Three days after his death, Amber met with an insurance adjuster. Seth recorded the meeting from a nearby table at the cafe. “I just need this to be over,” Amber said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“The financial stress on top of losing Brett is overwhelming. ”
“Understand, Mrs. Ellison. These things take time, but given the circumstances—natural causes, no suspicious findings—we should be able to process your claim within a few weeks.
”
“Weeks? I have funeral expenses, mortgage payments. ”
“We can advance you fifty thousand for immediate expenses. Will that help?
”
Amber’s tears dried up remarkably fast. “Yes. Yes, that would help. ”
That night, Brett watched through Seth’s feed as Amber and Dale celebrated in his house—in his bed.
“Fifty grand is just the start,” Dale said, popping champagne. “Once the full amount comes through, we’re gone. I’m thinking Caribbean. Somewhere without extradition.
”
“Why do we need somewhere without extradition? ” Amber laughed. “Baby, we killed someone. Even if it looks natural, I’m not taking chances.
We take the money and disappear. ”
Lucy, watching with Brett, put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay? ”
“They’re drinking champagne in my bed, celebrating my murder.
How do you think I am? ”
“I think you’re about to make them regret every decision they’ve ever made. ”
Brett smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re right about that.
”
The funeral was surreal. Brett watched via hidden camera as two hundred people gathered to mourn him. Colleagues from the bureau, old friends, family members who’d flown in. His mother, Gertrude Drew—she kept her maiden name after his father’s death—was devastated.
She was seventy-four, and watching her grieve for her son while he sat alive in a hospital room was the hardest part of this entire plan. Brett had wanted to tell her, but Tony had convinced him otherwise. “The more people who know, the more likely someone slips. Your mother can’t lie to save her life.
Amber would see through her in a second. ”
So Brett watched his mother sob over his empty casket and forced himself to remember why he was doing this. Amber played the grieving widow perfectly. She wore black, accepted condolences graciously, even gave a touching eulogy about their love story.
It made Brett’s blood boil. Dale attended too, standing at the back playing the concerned boss checking on his employee. At the reception afterward, Brett watched them exchange glances—brief, careful, but telling. After the funeral, the real work began.
Brett had spent his career following money. Now, he turned those skills on Amber and Dale with surgical precision. Zack helped him access their financial records—technically illegal without a warrant, but Brett had crossed that line the moment he faked his death. What he found was a blueprint for their new life.
Dale had been moving money into offshore accounts for months. Small amounts, untraceable, building a nest egg. He’d bought property in Belize under a shell corporation. They’d researched new identities.
This wasn’t just murder for insurance money. This was a complete exit strategy. But there were loose ends. Dale had confided in someone—his cousin Joey Tran, who worked in IT and had helped him set up the offshore accounts.
Joey didn’t know about the murder, but he knew about the money movement, which made him a potential witness. More concerning, Amber had told her sister. Brett listened to the recorded phone call with mounting anger. Amber’s sister, Britney Wilcox, lived in Boston.
Three days before Brett’s death, Amber called her. “Britney, I’m about to do something terrible, but I need you to know I had good reasons. ”
“Amber, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?
”
“I can’t tell you details, but if something happens to Brett, I need you to support me. I need you to act surprised and sad and not ask questions. ”
“Did you—Jesus, Amber—did you hurt him? ”
“I’m getting us both out of bad situations.
Just trust me. ”
Britney had agreed. Whether out of loyalty or cowardice, Brett couldn’t tell. But it meant she was an accomplice after the fact.
The web was bigger than he’d thought, and that gave him more targets for justice. “We need to flip Joey Tran,” Brett told Tony. “He’s the weak link. He doesn’t know about the murder, so he’s not in as deep.
We offer him immunity in exchange for testimony about the financial fraud. ”
“And the sister? ”
“She’s trickier, but I have an idea. ”
Brett had Lucy make a call to Britney, posing as an attorney for the insurance company.
“Ms. Wilcox, we’re conducting due diligence on your sister’s claim. We have some questions about statements she made to you before her husband’s death. ”
The panic in Britney’s voice was immediate.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“We have phone records indicating a concerning conversation. If you’re withholding information relevant to a potential fraud investigation—”
“I want a lawyer. ”
“That’s your right.
But I should inform you that cooperation at this stage could be beneficial if there are any legal complications. ”
Britney cracked within an hour, calling Amber in a panic. Seth’s bugs caught every word. “She knows, Amber.
The insurance company knows you told me something was going to happen. ”
“Calm down. They’re fishing. They have nothing.
”
“They mentioned fraud. They said I could be in legal trouble. ”
“You won’t be. Just stick to the story.
You didn’t know anything. I was just being dramatic and worried. That’s all. ”
But the seed of doubt was planted.
Britney was terrified, and terrified people made mistakes. Brett sat back, watching his plan unfold. All the pieces were moving into position. Soon it would be time to spring the trap.
Two weeks after his funeral, Brett Ellison walked into the FBI’s Philadelphia field office. The reaction was predictable—gasps, dropped coffee cups, Tony Greer grinning like a maniac because he was the only one who’d known. “What the hell, Brett? Is this real?
”
Brett went straight to Special Agent in Charge Aaron Ericson’s office. “Sir, I need to brief you on something urgent. ”
Thirty minutes later, Ericson sat back in his chair, processing what he just heard. “You faked your death to catch your wife and her lover for attempted murder.
”
“Yes, sir. ”
“And you have recordings, financial evidence, and witness testimony. ”
“All of it obtained creatively. ”
Ericson rubbed his temples.
“Brett, you know half this evidence won’t be admissible in court. ”
“I know, but I needed to understand the full scope. Now I do, and now I want to do this properly. I want warrants.
I want legal surveillance. I want to build a case that puts them away for decades. ”
“The prosecutor is going to have a field day with the defense attorney over your methods. ”
“Let them.
I’m alive. That proves attempted murder right there. Everything else is just icing. ”
Ericson made a decision.
“I’ll call the U. S. attorney. But Brett, you’re suspended pending an internal review of your actions.
”
“Understood, sir. ”
“And you’re going to therapy? ”
“Mandatory? ”
“Yes, sir.
”
“Now, get out of my office before I change my mind about helping you. ”
The legal machinery ground into motion. With Brett’s evidence as a road map, federal prosecutors obtained legitimate warrants. They seized Amber and Dale’s phones, computers, financial records.
They brought in Joey Tran and Britney Wilcox for questioning. Joey, faced with financial fraud charges, immediately flipped. He provided detailed testimony about Dale’s offshore accounts, the shell corporations, the money movement. He didn’t know about the murder, but his testimony established premeditation and planning.
Britney was harder. She’d been complicit, and she knew it. But when federal agents showed up at her Boston apartment with evidence of conspiracy to commit insurance fraud, she broke down. “I didn’t know she was going to kill him.
I swear. She just said she was leaving him, that she needed my support. ”
“But you suspected something more serious, didn’t you, Ms. Wilcox?
”
“I—I didn’t want to believe it. ”
“Your sister confided in you days before her husband died under suspicious circumstances, and you said nothing. That makes you an accessory. ”
Britney hired a lawyer who negotiated a plea deal—full cooperation in exchange for reduced charges.
But Brett wanted more than legal justice. He wanted them to feel what he’d felt—the betrayal, the fear, the violation of trust. So he orchestrated one final performance. Amber and Dale still didn’t know Brett was alive.
The FBI had kept his resurrection quiet, and everyone involved in the case had been sworn to secrecy. From Amber’s perspective, everything was going according to plan. The insurance company had approved her claim. The money would be transferred within days.
She and Dale had plane tickets to Belize for next week. What they didn’t know was that every conversation was being recorded, every plan documented, and Brett was about to make his entrance. On a Wednesday evening, three weeks after his death, Amber came home to find someone sitting in the living room. She screamed, dropping her keys.
“Hello, Amber,” Brett said calmly. She stared at him, her face cycling through shock, confusion, terror. “You’re—you’re dead. ”
“Apparently not.
” He stood up slowly. “Surprise! ”
“How—what? ”
“The oleander didn’t work.
Lucy recognized it. Got me to the hospital in time. They saved me. ”
Amber’s mind was clearly racing, trying to adjust, trying to find an angle.
“Oleander? Brett, I don’t understand. Those are just flowers. ”
“I sent you flowers from Dale Cologne, who rented a van under his own name and delivered poisonous flowers to my office.
Not your smartest play. ”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t—those weren’t supposed to be—it was a mistake. The florist must have—”
“Stop.
” Brett’s voice was cold. “I’ve spent three weeks listening to every conversation you and Dale have had. I’ve read every message. I know everything, Amber.
The affair, the planning, the offshore accounts, the life you’re going to build with my insurance money. ”
She backed toward the door. “You’re insane. You’re making this up.
”
“Am I making up the champagne celebration in our bedroom? The property in Belize? Your sister’s confession to federal agents this morning? ”
Amber’s hand found the doorknob.
“I want a lawyer. ”
“Too late for that. ” Brett smiled. “See, the FBI has been very interested in your activities.
They’re outside right now. Actually, they wanted to give me a few minutes to talk to you first. Professional courtesy. ”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
Special Agent Ericson entered with four other agents. “Amber Walton Ellison, you’re under arrest for attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, insurance fraud, and wire fraud. ”
As they cuffed her, Amber finally broke. “This isn’t fair.
You faked your death. You can’t use that against me. ”
“Actually,” Brett said, “I can. Because while I might have deceived you about being dead, you actively tried to make me dead.
Big difference. ”
Simultaneously, Dale Cologne was being arrested at his apartment. Seth Bradshaw, now working officially with the FBI, had the pleasure of leading that operation. Dale tried to run, making it as far as the parking lot before being tackled by three agents.
As they hauled him up, Seth made sure to tell him: “Brett Ellison says hello. He’s alive, by the way. Thought you’d want to know. ”
The look on Dale’s face was worth everything.
The trial took eight months to get to court. In that time, Brett underwent therapy—both court-mandated and voluntary—to process the trauma of his wife’s betrayal. Lucy remained a constant friend throughout, often joining him for coffee and conversation. “How are you really doing?
” she’d ask. “Better than I was,” he’d answer honestly. “Some days are harder than others. But mostly, I feel free.
Like I escaped something that would have destroyed me eventually, even if she hadn’t tried to kill me. ”
The case against Amber and Dale was overwhelming. The prosecution presented the deleted messages detailing their plan. Financial records showing the offshore accounts and shell corporations.
Joey Tran’s testimony about the money movement. Britney Wilcox’s testimony about Amber’s pre-murder confession. The rental records for the van Dale used to deliver the flowers. Toxicology reports confirming the oleander poisoning.
Lucy’s testimony about recognizing the flowers and saving Brett’s life. And most damning, the recordings of Amber and Dale celebrating Brett’s death. Their defense attorneys tried to argue entrapment, claiming Brett had manipulated them by faking his death. The judge shut that down immediately.
“Mr. Ellison’s actions after the attempted murder do not negate the defendant’s actions before and during the murder attempt. The fact that he survived and chose an unconventional method to gather evidence does not excuse the defendant’s criminal behavior. ”
The jury deliberated for three hours.
Guilty on all counts. Dale Cologne received twenty-five years in federal prison. His pharmaceutical career was over, his reputation destroyed. The man who thought he was clever enough to get away with murder would spend the next quarter century behind bars.
Amber received thirty years—a longer sentence because of the betrayal of marital trust and the particular cruelty of her method. The judge, a stern woman named Kelly Schwarz, didn’t mince words at sentencing. “Mrs. Ellison, you violated the most fundamental trust that exists between spouses.
You planned your husband’s death with the cold calculation of a hired killer, but with the added betrayal of someone who’d promised to love and cherish him. Your lack of remorse, even after being caught, demonstrates a profound moral bankruptcy. This court hopes that your time in prison will give you the opportunity for reflection and redemption, though, frankly, I doubt you’re capable of either. ”
Britney Wilcox received three years probation and a substantial fine for her role as an accessory after the fact.
Her relationship with Amber was permanently severed. Joey Tran, in exchange for his cooperation, received immunity and walked away with a clean record, though his reputation in his field was damaged. After the sentencing, Brett stood on the courthouse steps with Lucy, Tony, and Seth. “How does it feel?
” Tony asked. “Like justice,” Brett said. “Imperfect, messy, but justice nonetheless. ”
Lucy smiled.
“What’s next for you? ”
“I’m taking a leave of absence from the bureau. Going to travel, actually see some places I’ve never been, do some things I’ve been putting off. ”
“Alone?
” Lucy asked carefully. Brett looked at her—really looked at her. The woman who’d saved his life, who’d stood by him through everything, who’d risked her own career to help him get justice. “Actually,” he said, “I was hoping you might want to join me.
If you’re not sick of dealing with my drama by now. ”
She laughed. “Brett, I literally helped you fake your death and solve your own attempted murder. If I was going to get sick of you, it would have happened by now.
”
Six months later, Brett and Lucy were in Italy, sitting at a cafe in Rome, watching the sunset. Brett had sold the house—too many bad memories. He donated half the insurance money Amber had fraudulently claimed to charities supporting domestic violence victims. The rest he’d put toward his new life.
His mother, after recovering from the shock of his resurrection, had moved closer to him. She and Lucy got along famously, much to Brett’s amusement. “Your mother wants to know when we’re making it official,” Lucy said, sipping her wine. “Making what official?
”
“Us. She thinks we should get married. ”
Brett laughed. “We’ve been dating for six months, and most of that time I’ve been in therapy processing my last marriage.
I think we can take it slow. ”
“Good, because I’m not ready to plan a wedding. ” But she reached across the table and took his hand. “I am ready to keep doing this.
Whatever this is. ”
“This is good,” Brett said. “This is really good. ”
His phone buzzed.
A message from Tony: “Just saw Amber’s appeal was denied. She’s officially stuck for thirty years. Thought you’d want to know. ”
Brett showed Lucy the message.
“How do you feel about that? ” she asked. “Honestly? Nothing.
She’s not part of my life anymore. She’s just someone who made very bad choices and is paying for them. ” He put the phone away. “I spent so much energy being angry, wanting revenge.
But now I just want to live. ”
“Then let’s live,” Lucy said, raising her glass. “To second chances. ”
“To second chances,” Brett echoed, clinking his glass against hers.
As the sun set over Rome, Brett Ellison—survivor, investigator, and phoenix risen from the ashes of his own funeral—smiled. He’d been poisoned, betrayed, and nearly murdered. But he’d survived. He’d fought back.
And he’d won. Not because he destroyed his enemies, though he had, but because he’d refused to let their evil destroy him. And in the end, that was the greatest victory of all.