If you look at the right side of this photo, you’ll see federal agents catching a wealthy socialite in the act. But look at the left side: see the subtle smile on my bruised face under that synthetic pillow as I finally pull the trigger on my own trap.
The worst part of having your whole body in a cast isn’t the pain. It’s the total, agonizing inability to flinch when the monster enters your room. My name is Elena Cross. Until three days ago, I was a senior forensic accountant at a firm in downtown Chicago. Now, I’m a broken porcelain doll, strapped…
