10

"Smile, Ethan. People are starting to think you're here against your will."

Lucas Reed adjusted my bow tie. His fingers were cold. He looked me in the eye with that same predatory calm he used in the boardroom. We stood at the top of the grand staircase of the Metropolitan Museum. Below us, a sea of black ties and silk gowns swirled around the auction blocks. The air smelled of expensive perfume and old money.

"I am here against my will." I knocked his hand away. My skin crawled where he touched me.

"Technically. But the cameras don't know that. They see the young, brilliant Ethan Vane back from the brink, standing beside his father’s most trusted associate." Lucas stepped closer. He lowered his voice. "The ledger. Where is it?"

"In the coat check. I have the ticket." I patted the breast pocket of my tuxedo. "You get the drive when I see Sophia. Not a second before."

"She's in the car. Ten minutes away. We do the exchange during the main auction." Lucas scanned the crowd. He looked toward the balcony. "Caleb is here."

I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I felt the weight of his stare. It was like a physical pressure on the back of my neck. Underneath my shirt, the thin wire Caleb had taped to my chest was a constant itch.

"Let him watch," I said. "He thinks he’s playing us both. He doesn't know I have the Paris files."

"Good. Keep him focused on you. I want him to see us together. I want him to believe you’ve finally seen sense." Lucas offered his arm. "Let’s go. We have a show to put on."

We walked down into the crowd. I felt the eyes of the city on me. The whispers followed us like a wake. Every few steps, a photographer’s flash blinded me. I kept the fake smile pinned to my face. It felt like a scar.

"He looks like he’s ready to kill me," Lucas whispered. He was looking toward the second-floor railing.

I finally looked up. Caleb was standing there. He was dressed in a midnight-blue tuxedo that made him look like a shadow. His jaw was set so tight I thought I heard his teeth crack from across the room. He wasn't looking at the auction. He was looking at Lucas’s hand on my waist.

"He's possessive," I said. I leaned into Lucas. My heart was slamming against the wire. Listen to this, Caleb. "He thinks he bought me with that bankruptcy scam. He doesn't realize I’m not for sale."

"Spoken like a true Vane." Lucas laughed. It was a sharp, hollow sound. He pulled me closer, his hand sliding lower, almost touching the small of my back. "Tell me, Ethan. Was he as good as they say? Or was it all corporate posturing?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" I leaned my head toward Lucas's shoulder. I caught a glimpse of Caleb on the balcony. He’d gripped the marble railing so hard his knuckles were white. He looked like he was about to vault over the edge. "He’s a animal, Lucas. He doesn't know how to play the game without breaking the pieces."

"And you? Are you broken?"

"I'm surviving." I looked Lucas in the eyes. I made them go soft. I made them look desperate. "Just get my sister back. Then I’m yours. Whatever you want."

"I like that. Very much." Lucas’s grip tightened. "Stay here. I’m going to check on the delivery. Don't move."

He walked away, disappearing into the crowd near the bar. I stood by a tall marble pillar, my breath coming in shallow hitches. My palms were sweating inside my silk pockets.

"You're laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?"

Caleb’s voice crackled in the tiny earpiece buried in my ear canal. He sounded like he was vibrating with rage.

"It's working," I whispered, barely moving my lips. I looked at a tray of champagne as a waiter passed. "He thinks he has me. He thinks I’m turned."

"He’s touching you too much."

"Focus on the mission, Caleb. Did you get the signal from the car?"

"The car is entering the underground garage now. Sophia is in the back. Two guards. Both armed." Caleb’s voice was a low growl. "I’m moving to the service stairs. Stay in the light, Ethan. If you move into the shadows, I can't protect you."

"I don't need protection. I need the ticket."

I walked toward the coat check. My legs felt like lead. The ledger Caleb had given me—the one tucked inside the lining of my overcoat—was supposed to be a fake. A dummy filled with encrypted gibberish to stall Lucas until the feds arrived.

I reached the counter. I handed the attendant the plastic tag. "The black wool coat. Size forty."

She returned with the garment. I took it, stepping into a small alcove to 'check my phone.' My fingers searched the interior pocket. I pulled the heavy, leather-bound book out just enough to see the first page.

My heart stopped.

It wasn't gibberish.

June 2021: Transfer to Reed Logistics. $4.2M. Authorized by: Arthur Vane.

I flipped the page.

August 2021: Cash injection from Pacific Crest. $1.8M. Signature: Arthur Vane.

My father.

My father wasn't a victim. He wasn't the man Caleb was trying to avenge. He was the architect. He had been working with Lucas Reed before Caleb even entered the picture.

"Ethan? What's the hold-up?" Caleb’s voice hissed in my ear.

"You lied to me," I whispered. My throat was tight. A single tear escaped, hot and stinging. I wiped it away with the back of my hand. "This isn't a fake, Caleb. This is real."

"I told you I was giving you the kill switch."

"You gave me my father’s death warrant! You knew he was the one who started this! You let me believe he was innocent so I’d hate Lucas even more!"

"I gave you the truth! I wanted to see if you’d hide it or use it! Now move! Lucas is coming back!"

I shoved the ledger back into the coat. My hands were shaking. I couldn't breathe. Everything was a lie. My father, Caleb, Lucas—they were all just different versions of the same devil.

I walked back out into the ballroom. Lucas was there, waiting. He looked impatient.

"The car is here," Lucas said. "Give me the ticket."

"Is she safe?" I grabbed his wrist. My fingers dug into his skin. "I want to hear her voice again."

"Later. The ticket, Ethan. Now."

I reached for my pocket. My hand was a blur.

Suddenly, the air pressure in the room shifted. A low hum started in the floorboards.

THUD.

The lights didn't just flicker. They died. The entire museum was plunged into a blackness so thick it felt like water.

The crowd screamed. A thousand voices rising in a panicked wave.

BANG.

A single gunshot. The sound was deafening, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings. The muzzle flash was a sharp, white spark near the bar.

"Ethan!" Lucas’s voice was a snarl in the dark.

I felt a hand grab my arm. It wasn't a professional grip. It was a violent, desperate yank.

"Don't move," a voice hissed.

I didn't recognize it. It wasn't Caleb. It wasn't Lucas.

I was pulled backward, stumbling over the train of someone’s dress. My shoulder hit the heavy velvet curtain of the service hallway.

"Who are you?" I swung a blind punch.

My fist caught air. A forearm slammed into my throat, pinning me against the wall. The person was smaller than Caleb, but faster. I smelled smoke and cheap tobacco.

"Shut up if you want to see your sister alive."

The emergency lights kicked on—dim, red, and flickering.

I looked at the person holding me. It was Noah Bennett. His face was covered in snot and sweat. He was holding a suppressed pistol to my stomach.

"Noah?" I coughed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not letting them kill her, Ethan." Noah’s eyes were wild. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Caleb isn't going to save her. He’s going to use the distraction to take out Lucas. He doesn't care if Sophia is in the crossfire."

"Where is she?"

"The basement. The boiler room." Noah leaned in. His morning breath was foul. "I have a key. But we have to go now. Before the feds breach the building."

"Why are you helping me?"

Noah looked at the gun in his hand. He looked like he wanted to vomit. "Because I'm the one who gave Lucas the Paris files. I'm the one who started this. I can't—I can't let her die because of me."

"Ethan! Where are you?" Caleb’s voice roared from the ballroom. I heard the sound of heavy boots on marble.

"He's coming," Noah whispered. "Choose, Ethan. The ledger or your sister. You can't have both."

I looked toward the ballroom, then back at the dark service stairs.

I reached into my coat. I pulled out the ledger—the evidence that would destroy my family’s name forever.

I shoved it into Noah’s hands.

"Take it," I said. "Go to the press. Go to the FBI. Burn it all."

"And you?"

"I'm going to get my sister."

I turned and ran down the stairs, deeper into the bowels of the museum. The red light cast long, bloody shadows on the walls.

I reached the basement level. The air was hot, vibrating with the hum of the massive boilers.

"Sophia!" I shouted.

I heard a muffled cry. I ran toward the sound, my dress shoes slipping on the wet concrete.

I saw her. She was tied to a chair in the center of the room. Her face was bruised. Her mouth was taped.

"Sophia!" I lunged for her.

I didn't see the figure in the shadows until it was too late.

A heavy boot caught me in the ribs. I hit the floor, the wind leaving my lungs in a wet wheeze.

"I knew you'd come for her."

Caleb stepped out of the darkness. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo jacket anymore. His shirt was unbuttoned, his chest heaving. He was holding a gun. But he wasn't pointing it at me.

He was pointing it at a man standing behind Sophia.

It was my father.

Arthur Vane looked at me. He didn't look like a dead man. He didn't look like a ghost. He looked like a man who was bored.

"Hello, Ethan," my father said. "You were always too emotional for this business."

"You're alive?" I gasped. I tried to stand up. My ribs felt like they were grinding together. "Caleb said—"

"Caleb said what I told him to say," my father interrupted. He checked his gold watch. "He’s been my errand boy for years. Aren't you, Caleb?"

Caleb didn't move. The gun was rock steady in his hand. His face was a mask of cold, restrained fury.

"He's the one who scammed you, Ethan," my father continued. "He’s the one who took the company. Not for the FBI. For me. We needed a clean break. A fresh start. And you were the perfect distraction."

I looked at Caleb.

"Is it true?" I whispered.

Caleb didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on my father.

"The codes, Arthur," Caleb said. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Give me the codes to the primary vault, or the girl dies."

I looked at Sophia. I looked at the man I loved. I looked at the man who raised me.

"You're both going to kill her," I said.

I reached into my pocket. I didn't have a gun. I didn't have a ledger.

I had the tracking device I’d pulled from my jacket earlier.

I hit the button.

The building rocked again. Not an explosion this time. A breach.

"FBI! DROP THE WEAPONS!"

The door to the boiler room burst open.

My father didn't flinch. He grabbed Sophia, pulling her in front of him like a shield.

"One step and she’s gone," my father said.

Caleb looked at me. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.

"Ethan, get down," Caleb whispered.

He didn't fire at my father.

He fired at the overhead steam pipe.

The room vanished in a white-hot cloud of scalding pressure.

I lunged through the mist. I felt a body. I felt hair.

"Sophia!"

I grabbed her, hauling her toward the floor.

I heard a shot. Then another.

The steam began to clear.

I looked up.

My father was on the floor. He wasn't moving. There was a red hole in his forehead.

Caleb was standing over him. His gun was smoking.

"Is she okay?" Caleb asked. He didn't look at the body. He looked at me.

I didn't answer. I untied Sophia. She collapsed into my arms, sobbing into my neck.

"You killed him," I said.

"He was going to kill you both." Caleb stepped toward us. He reached out a hand.

I pulled Sophia away.

"Don't touch us," I said. My voice was like ice. "You knew. You knew he was alive the whole time. You used me to get to him."

"Ethan, listen—"

"No." I stood up, helping Sophia to her feet. The FBI was swarming the room now, their tactical lights cutting through the lingering steam. "You’re just like him. You just wanted the throne."

I walked past him.

"Ethan!" Caleb’s voice was desperate. "The ledger! Where is it?"

I stopped at the door. I looked back at him over my shoulder.

"I gave it to Noah," I said. "He’s at the New York Times by now. Your throne is gone, Caleb. There’s nothing left to rule."

I walked out into the night, carrying my sister.

The rain started to fall. Cold. Real.

I reached the street. The cameras were everywhere. The flashes were like lightning.

I saw Noah Bennett across the street. He was talking to a woman with a notepad. He held up the ledger.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Check the back pocket of your sister’s jacket.

I stopped. I reached into Sophia’s pocket.

I pulled out a small, silver key. And a note.

The safe house in the Hamptons. The blue one. I’ll be waiting. - C

I looked at the key. I looked at the cameras.

I looked at Sophia.

"Where are we going, Ethan?" she whispered.

I looked at the key again.

"We're going home," I said.

I turned the key over in my hand.

The last line of the note was written in a different ink.

I'm pregnant.