Chapter 1: The Chair at the Table

I stood up from my desk so fast my heavy leather chair rolled back and slammed into the walnut bookshelf behind me.

“What did you say?” I demanded.

“A page from the ledger,” Elena repeated, her voice shrinking under the sudden fury radiating from my frame. “Nikolai showed it to me three days ago at his safehouse in Renton. He was furious. He thought you were playing with him—that you were dropping pieces of the ledger to draw his men out into the open so you could execute them one by one!”

I turned away from her, walking toward the large bay window that overlooked the rain-slicked gardens of the estate.

My mind raced through the implications with terrifying speed.

If I didn't have the ledger... and Nikolai didn't have the ledger... then someone else had walked into the smoldering ruins of my house in Idaho two years ago, pulled that book from the ashes, and waited twenty-four months to begin dropping pieces of it into the hands of my worst enemies.

Someone was playing a game. And they were using the blood of my dead family as the currency.

“Where is Nikolai right now, Elena?” I asked, turning back to face her.

“He’s at a warehouse near the Duwamish River,” she answered instantly, no longer holding anything back. “He told me I had until midnight tonight to deliver the layout of your subterranean vault, or he would send a strike team to your estate while you were sleeping.”

I pulled my pocket watch from my vest—a gold timepiece that had belonged to my grandfather.

The time was 9:42 PM.

We had two hours and eighteen minutes.

I looked at Marcus standing near the door. “Call Viktor. Tell him to prep the three black Escalades. I want eight men, fully armed with short-barrel carbines and thermite charges. We move in twenty minutes.”

“Boss,” Marcus hesitated, stepping forward. “What about the woman and the child?”

I looked at Elena. She had collapsed onto her knees again, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders rocking as she wept for her life and the life of her daughter.

She was a spy. She had entered my home under false pretenses. In my world, the penalty for bringing a rival syndicate’s operative inside my gates was death—swift, absolute, and merciless.

Then I thought of the little girl sitting at my granite table ten minutes ago, chewing on a dinner roll and looking at me with big, innocent brown eyes because she didn't want a lonely man to eat by himself.

“Take Elena and Amara to the sub-level safe room,” I ordered Marcus flatly. “Lock the blast doors from the outside. If I am not back by four o'clock tomorrow morning, my legal team will execute Contingency Plan Alpha—and Elena will be provided with two million dollars and safe transport out of the country under a new identity.”

Elena snapped her head up, staring at me in utter disbelief. “Mr. Hale... why? I lied to you. I brought danger into your house...”