425 I was eight months pregnant and suffering from heatstroke when my husband locked me out in the 100-degree backyard. "Flip the burgers, the smoke is ruining my mother's hair," he yelled from the air-conditioned kitchen. Through the glass, I saw his parents drinking iced tea and pointing at my sweat-soaked clothes. As my vision blurred and the ground rushed up to meet me, they didn't know I had just hit the emergency GPS beacon on my phone—sending my exact coordinates to my brother's private security firm.

The beam of Claire’s phone flashlight caught the intruder right in the eyes, causing him to raise a gloved hand to shield his face. He was a tall man, dressed in a sleek, expensive charcoal suit that looked entirely out of place in a rustic Maine cabin. His hair was slicked back, and his face was completely unmarred, save for a thin, pale scar running along his jawline.

"Turn that off," the man said, his voice smooth, almost polite.

"Who are you?" Claire demanded, keeping her voice as steady as she could, though her arms shook under the weight of her daughter.

"My name is Victor Vance," the man said.

Claire’s blood turned to ice. "Vance? Victoria's..."

"Her brother," Victor said, taking a step into the nursery. "And the actual managing partner of Vance & Associates. My sister was a fool. She let her personal greed and her relationship with Vivian Sterling cloud her judgment. She thought she could kidnap a child and get away with it. I have no interest in kidnapping, Claire. I am a man of finance."

"The finance is gone, Victor," Claire said, backing up until her spine hit the wooden wall. "The FBI seized the offshore accounts. The Sterling assets are frozen. There is no fifty million dollars."

"The FBI seized the accounts they knew about," Victor said, pulling a small, silver tablet from his jacket pocket. "Grant Sterling was an amateur, but he was smart enough to set up a mirror account. Fifty million dollars doesn't just vanish into federal custody unless the authorities have the cryptographic key to the cold wallet. That key was split into three parts. One was held by Grant. One by Vivian. And the third was given to Daniel."

"Daniel is dead," Claire said. "The locket—"

"The locket you gave to the FBI only contained the routing numbers for the primary accounts," Victor interrupted, his gray eyes shining in the flashlight beam. "Daniel was smarter than you think. He didn't keep his part of the key in a locket. He wrote it in the one place he knew you would keep forever. The deed to this cabin."

Claire blinked, utterly bewildered. "The deed? What are you talking about?"

"When Daniel was pleading guilty, he signed a series of property release forms. One of those forms was a quitclaim deed for his interest in your family's assets, which your brother used to clear the title for this cabin," Victor explained, taking another step closer. "Daniel’s lawyer was one of my associates. Before Daniel signed, he used an invisible chemical compound to write his portion of the key onto the back of the physical deed document. He told my sister that if anything happened to him, you would eventually look at the paperwork."

"I don't have the physical deed here," Claire lied, her heart racing. "It’s in a safe deposit box in New York."

"Don't lie to me, Claire," Victor said, his tone turning dangerously sharp. "We searched your brother's vehicle. We know he brought the closing documents with him this weekend to help you file your taxes. It’s downstairs in his briefcase. Now, you are going to walk downstairs with me, you are going to hand me that document, and we are going to use my UV light to read the key. If you do this, I will leave you, your brother, and your daughter in peace. If you don't..."

He pulled a small, silenced pistol from his pocket, aiming it not at Claire, but directly at Maya.

"I will correct my sister's mistakes. Permanently."

Claire looked down at Maya, who had finally opened her eyes. The little girl looked up at her mother, completely silent, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

"Okay," Claire whispered, her throat dry. "Okay. Just don't hurt her."

"A sensible mother," Victor smiled, gesturing for her to lead the way. "After you."

They walked out of the nursery and down the dark stairs. On the living room floor, Ethan was slumped against the wall, his face bruised and a trickle of blood running from his temple, but he was breathing. Another man in a dark suit stood over him, holding a taser.

"The briefcase is in the kitchen," Claire said, her voice trembling as she walked toward the counter.

But as she stepped into the kitchen, she saw the heavy iron skillet she had used to cook dinner sitting on the stove.

She had to make a choice. If she gave Victor the key, he would have no reason to keep them alive. The Vances didn't leave witnesses.

With her back to Victor, Claire set Maya down gently on the kitchen rug behind the counter. Her hand crept toward the handle of the cast-iron skillet.

"Hurry up, Claire," Victor called out from the living room. "I don't have all night."