$2,800 meant almost nothing in my world—until I heard my maid crying behind a bathroom door because that exact amount stood between her little girl and the medicine she needed to breathe. Hours later, I would find her holding a bottle to her chest and whispering, “Baby, I have milk for you,” and realize the problem was far darker than unpaid medical bills.

Within thirty minutes, Ryan Callaway arrived at my penthouse with two encrypted laptops and a private security detail. We set up an emergency command post in my library.

"Daniel," Ryan warned, sliding a dossier across the desk. "Sam Miller isn't just trying to steal high-value pharmaceuticals. He's building a counterfeit medical network across the East Coast. If we expose him publicly without ironclad proof, his lawyers will tie us up in court for years, and Maya will be caught in the crossfire."

"I don't care about the courts, Ryan," I said coldly, looking at the blueprint of Pier Forty-Seven. "Miller used my logistics network, my employee, and a innocent child to secure a illegal windfall. He wants a war. I’m going to give him an eviction."

"What's the plan?" Ryan asked.

"Maya goes to the meeting at midnight," I said, turning to Maya, who sat nervously in an armchair. "She delivers the bottle just like Vance instructed. But inside that bottle won't be the stolen biologic core. It will be a tracer compound mixed with plain milk."

Maya looked up, terrified. "What if Vance realizes it's fake? He’ll hurt Lily!"

"He won't hurt Lily because Lily isn't going to be at her daycare or her aunt's house tonight," I assured her, turning to my security lead, Marcus. "Marcus, take three men and secure Lily right now. Move her to my private medical suite at Mount Sinai under an alias. Put twenty-four-hour guards outside her door."

Marcus nodded grimly. "Consider it done, Mr. Foster."

Maya fell to her knees before me, grabbing my hand. "Thank you... oh God, thank you, Mr. Foster."

"Don't thank me yet, Maya," I said, pulling her up gently. "We still have to trap the wolf."

I turned back to Ryan. "Call the District Attorney's office. Tell Special Prosecutor Vance—no relation to the thug—that I'm handing him Sam Miller on a silver platter at Pier Forty-Seven at midnight. Tell him to bring federal marshals."