SHATTERED PORCELAIN: THE FALL OF AN ARROGANT HEIR

Night fell again, bringing a relentless November storm that swept the city's avenues clean of tourists. Gage had spent half his pawn money on a dingy motel room near the bus terminal, but the door lock had failed, and a thief had stolen his jacket and remaining cash while he slept in an exhausted stupor.

Now, dressed only in his stained tuxedo trousers and a torn undershirt, he huddled under the canvas awning of a shuttered bakery. His teeth chattered violently. Every gust of wind chilled him to the marrow.

He watched people hurrying past in raincoats, ducking into warm restaurants, their faces glowing behind steamy windows. For twenty-six years, he had been the one inside those restaurants, snapping his fingers at waiters, demanding the best vintage, mocking the homeless shivering outside.

Now, he was the ghost on the pavement.

A heavy black umbrella stopped in front of him. Gage looked up through wet hair, his heart leaping with desperate hope. "Arthur?"

The umbrella lifted. It was not Arthur. It was Mr. Higgins, Arthur’s head of security, flanked by two burly men in plain clothes. Higgins looked down at the shivering wreck with unreadable eyes.

"Get up, Gage," Higgins said quietly. "Mr. Vance has arranged a room for you."

Gage scrambled to his feet, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. "I knew it! I knew he couldn't leave me out here! Take me back to the manor!"