Her Step-Aunt Dragged Nine-Year-Old Emma by the Hair Demanding, “Where Did She Hide It?”—Then Emma Whispered One Sentence About Her Dead Mother That Made Her Father Look at the Necklace Around Her Neck.

The security monitors above the main terminal blinked from black into grain-filled live feeds.

On the screen displaying the alleyway above, three black SUVs were parked bumper-to-bumper. Men in full tactical gear were deploying across the fire escapes. But it wasn't the mercenaries that made Daniel’s heart stop cold.

Exiting the rear of the lead SUV was Arthur Vance.

The old attorney was no longer wearing his rumpled tweed suit. He wore a crisp, tailored charcoal overcoat, flanked by two armed operatives. And walking behind him, clutching a silver-tipped walking cane with a heavy signet ring gleaming on his right hand, was a tall, silver-haired man whose face bore a deep, jagged scar running from his left temple into his collar.

Julian Mercer.

"Arthur..." Daniel choked out, his fists clenching until his skin split. "Arthur sold us out."

"Arthur was Julian Mercer’s half-brother," Evelyn said, her voice cold with resigned bitterness as she hit a sequence of switches on her console, initiating a data wipe on the peripheral servers. "Julian took his mother’s name; Arthur kept his father’s. They played both sides of the board for thirty years. Arthur managed Claire’s legal affairs to monitor how much she knew, while Julian ran the syndicate that funded the research."

"We need to get out through the emergency hatch," Daniel said, reaching for Emma and pulling her behind him.

"There is no emergency hatch that they haven't already covered," Evelyn said, turning around with a small, black remote detonator in her hand. "The building was rigged with thermite charges three years ago when I set up this facility. Julian knows I have it. He knows if he breaches with heavy force, the entire block collapses into the subway tunnel."

*DING.*

The freight elevator arrived at the subterranean level with a heavy, hydraulic groan. The reinforced steel doors slid back slowly.

Standing in the opening, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries with submachine guns held at the low-ready, was Julian Mercer. Arthur Vance stood slightly behind him, holding a leather briefcase, his face pale and expressionless.

"Evelyn," Mercer said, his voice cultured, resonant, and chillingly polite. "Forty years in biochemical research, and you choose to die in a cellar smelling of damp masonry. What an undignified end for the great Dr. Cross."

Mercer’s cold gray eyes shifted past Evelyn, landing directly on Daniel and Emma. A thin, cruel smile curled the edges of his scarred lips.

"And Daniel Vance. Claire’s little boy-toy from the Midwest. You've caused my board of directors a great deal of logistical inconvenience over the past seventy-two hours."

"You murdered Claire," Daniel said, his voice deadly quiet, his body shielding Emma completely from Mercer’s view.

"Claire murdered herself when she forgot who paid for her education, her lab, and her comfortable suburban life," Mercer replied smoothly. "She was an employee who mistook her talent for ownership. A common defect among idealists."

Mercer extended an open, gloved hand.

"The disc, Daniel. And the culture in the locket. Give them to me, and I will allow you and the girl to board a flight to South America by sunrise. Arthur has prepared passports, bank accounts, and five million dollars in bearer bonds."

Arthur took a half-step forward, his voice cracking with hollow desperation. "Take the deal, Daniel! For God’s sake, think of Emma! You can't fight this! Julian controls the district attorney, the state police, the regulatory boards—you have nowhere to run!"

"Shut up, Arthur," Daniel said without looking at him.

Daniel looked at Mercer. He saw the cold, dead arrogance in the billionaire's eyes—the absolute certainty of a man who believed every human soul had a price tag or a bullet waiting for it.

Then, Daniel felt a small, firm tug on the back of his belt.

He glanced down. Emma was looking up at him, her eyes clear, fierce, and entirely devoid of tears. She had her small hand slipped into the pocket of her coat, where she had slipped Daniel’s spare firearm while the adults were talking.

She looked at Mercer, then up at Daniel, and whispered the phrase Claire had taught her during their last night together: