Chapter 4

To kill the situation fast and save the deal she could already taste, Claire did something genuinely monstrous.

She spun around, put herself in front of Zach, pointed at her father and me, and raised her voice for the whole crowd.

"Everyone, please, this is a misunderstanding. Stop filming.

"These two men are not my family."

The floor went dead quiet.

"They were hired by a competitor to stage a scene in my store.

"They're here to destroy our reputation."

Walter's eyes went wide. His whole body was trembling when he raised his hand and pointed at her.

"You monster. You cold, heartless little monster.

"I'm your father. I am your father.

"And for this man, you'll stand there and say you don't know me?"

"Shut your mouth, you crazy old man."

Her face twisted into something I'd never seen on it before. She shoved him back down to the floor with both hands, then wheeled on the guards.

"Are all of you dead? What are you standing around for?

"Get packing tape. Tape their mouths shut.

"Tie them up and put them in the cold room.

"Ms. Lane will be here any minute and they are not going anywhere near her. Move!"

With the owner saying it out loud, the guards stopped hesitating.

They pulled rolls of wide tape off the shelf and came at us like a pack.

"Get off me."

I fought as hard as I could, but two arms against eight doesn't go anywhere. They put me flat against the wall, and I watched a strip of cold tape come toward my mouth.

Walter was sobbing on the floor with nothing he could do about it.

Zach stayed tucked under Claire's arm, grinning like a man at a very good show.

And then, with the tape an inch from my face, the sound that hit the building arrived — less a crash than a detonation.

The sealed metal shutter blew inward. Two black armored SUVs had come straight through it from the street.

Shrapnel sprayed across the tile. The whole supermarket shuddered on its foundation.

Everyone froze. The guards' hands came off me.

The doors opened.

A team of men in black poured out and moved through the wreckage like they'd rehearsed it, and inside of five seconds every guard who'd been holding me was face-down with his arms locked behind his back.

Then a third car stopped in the gap where the shutter used to be. A Rolls-Royce, black, still ticking from the drive.

A tall woman stepped out of it and walked in over the broken glass and torn metal without breaking stride, without once looking down.

Whatever she carried with her took the air out of the room. Nobody spoke.

Claire's face changed completely — first blank, then lit up with something close to joy.

Because that was the woman she'd chased for half a month, the woman she'd begged three separate people to introduce her to. The top of the venture world. Vivian Lane.

Claire assumed she'd come to inspect the store. She forgot everything that had just happened on that floor and hurried forward with a smile so eager it was painful to look at.

"Ms. Lane. Hello, hello. I'm Claire, we corresponded.

"I'm so sorry you had to walk into this. We had some unstable people come in off the street. I'm having them removed right now."

She bent at the waist and put out both hands to take Vivian's.

Vivian didn't lift an eyelid.

She didn't look at Claire at all.

Her shoulder went straight into Claire's chest and knocked her clean out of the way.

Claire hadn't braced for it. She staggered back four or five steps and sat down hard on the floor, staring up with her mouth open.

And while Claire watched from the tile, the financier whose name moved rooms, who could shift a market by changing her mind, walked the length of that supermarket and stopped in front of me.

She inclined her head slightly. Her voice was quiet, and respectful, and warm.

"Mr. Ford. Traffic was terrible coming in. I'm sorry I'm late."