flash
In the dim, fluorescent light of Betty’s Blue Plate, the face staring back at me wasn’t mine, yet it was carved from the same bone structure. It was an older woman—perhaps in her late fifties—with sharp, intelligent eyes, a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a necklace that made my chest constrict. / Chapter 2 / 8

Chapter 2 - The Sinking Foundation

The distance between the diner counter and the front glass door vanished in a blur of motion. I dropped the tray—plates shattering against the checkered linoleum with a sound like breaking glass—and bolted past Harrison Cole, shoving my way through the stunned customers.

"Ethan!" I yelled, bursting out into the cold, wet night air.

The rain had turned into a heavy, driving drizzle that slicked the asphalt in oily rainbows from the diner's neon sign. Ethan was leaning against the fender of the nearest black SUV, his knees buckling. His lips had taken on that terrifying, bluish tint that always sent my heart straight into my throat. The panic attack was turning into a cardiac spasm. His fingers clawed at his chest, where the cheap silver swallow pendant hung outside his shirt.

"Inhaler... in the truck," he gasped, his eyes rolling back slightly.

I whipped around, about to scream for someone to call an ambulance, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. It wasn't Ethan. It was one of Harrison’s men—a mountain of a man in a tactical turtleneck who moved with the silent, terrifying efficiency of a professional soldier.

"Don't move him," the man commanded, his voice deep and flat. "Clear the airway. Miller, get the medical kit from Unit Three."

"Get your hands off him!" I snarled, shoving the guard with all my weight. He didn't budge an inch, but he stepped back just enough for me to drop to my knees in the wet dirt beside my brother.

"Ethan, look at me. Stay with me," I pleaded, cupping his ice-cold face in my palms. " Breathe, damn it. Just breathe!"

"They... they tore up the living room, Claire," Ethan whispered, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. "Men in black coats. They weren't looking for money. They were looking through Mom's old trunk. They found the box."

My blood ran cold. The box.

The old cedar box under the floorboards of our rented house—the one Mom had sworn on her deathbed contained nothing more than old photo albums and her grandmother's wedding ring.

"Mr. Cole!" I screamed over the hiss of the rain, turning my head toward the diner door where Harrison had just emerged, flanked by two more suits. "Your men—did you send people to my house?"

Harrison stopped dead in his tracks. For a fraction of a second, genuine surprise flickered across his carved features, followed immediately by a dark, dangerous storm. He looked at the giant who had tried to hold me, then back to me.

"None of my people are at your house, Claire," Harrison said, his voice dropping an octave as he strode across the gravel, ignoring the mud that ruined his thousand-dollar Italian leather shoes. He knelt down beside Ethan, ignoring the boy's terrified flinch, and reached into his own coat.

Instead of a weapon, he pulled out a sleek, titanium-encased medical injector. Without a word, he pressed it against Ethan’s thigh through his jeans and clicked the top.

A sharp hiss of compressed air echoed in the alleyway. Within three seconds, the blue tint around Ethan’s lips began to recede, his ragged breathing deepening into a ragged, shuddering gasp.

"What... what was that?" Ethan muttered, staring up at the billionaire with wide, glazed eyes.

"Advanced myocardial stabilizer," Harrison said smoothly, standing back up and towering over both of us. He didn't look at Ethan; his gaze was locked on the horizon, toward the dark, winding stretch of Route 42 that led back to our dilapidated rental. "And to answer your question, Claire: I didn't send those men to your house. Because if I had, they would have been quiet about it."

A chill that had nothing to do with the Ohio rain crept down my spine.

"Then who was it?" I asked, my voice trembling as I helped Ethan lean back against the warm metal of the SUV.

May you like

The screech of the chopper’s rotor blades vibrated directly through the freezing slate beneath my spine. The blinding white vortex of snow kicked up by the downdraft burned my eyes, but I forced my lids open, locking my gaze onto the amber visor of the rescue specialist dropping out of the sky.

The screech of the chopper’s rotor blades vibrated directly through the...

Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking against the pristine hospital linoleum. He reached for the tray table, his fingers brushing the edge of the papers. His voice was low, coated in a practiced, corporate calm that made my stomach churn worse than the spiked blood pressure.

Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking agai...

The silence in the dining room stretched thin, heavy enough to slice with a butter knife. Robert, Michael’s father, adjusted his napkin, completely oblivious to the silent war being fought across the porcelain plates.

The silence in the dining room stretched thin, heavy enough to slice wit...

Harrison pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping across a glowing screen that displayed a live satellite feed of our neighborhood. A single red dot was currently blinking erratically three miles away, right on top of our street address.

"It’s the people who killed your mother," Harrison said quietly. "And they've just realized you're still alive."

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