SHATTERED TIES ACROSS THE GLASS TOWER

Ethan slipped into the leather backseat, his gaze locking onto Mercer in the rearview mirror. Mercer hadn't changed; he still wore his pristine tailored suits and gold-rimmed spectacles, but there was a smug, predatory satisfaction in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"You look terrible, Ethan," Mercer said, not bothering to turn around as the driver accelerated out of the industrial park. "A bit rough around the edges for a retired billionaire."

"You brokered this," Ethan said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, ice-cold register that had once made entire corporate boards tremble. "Victoria didn't have the legal clearances to track the boat's proprietary telemetry. That required internal corporate keys."

"Victoria is a blunt instrument, Ethan. A pirate with a pedigree," Mercer replied smoothly, adjusting his cufflink. "When you fired me in that hospital, you humiliated me in front of the entire financial world. You cost me thirty million dollars in stock options and destroyed my legacy. Did you really think I would fade into a retirement community in Florida?"

"You're working with an international crime syndicate to extort your own client's estate," Ethan said.

"My client was your father. You were merely an arrogant brat who inherited his chair," Mercer spat, turning his head slightly. "Your father understood that power requires compromise. He kept a secondary safety-deposit vault beneath Pierce Tower that only you and Victoria can access simultaneously—a double-key biometric system established in 1985."

Ethan remembered. As a boy, his father had dragged him to the sub-basement of Pierce Tower, forcing his hand onto an early optical scanner, murmuring about contingencies. Ethan had thought it was paranoia; it had been an insurance policy for a blood debt.

"What is in that vault, Jonathan?" Ethan demanded.

"The original bearer shares for the Mediterranean shipping lines. Worth six billion dollars today," Mercer smiled. "Once you open it, Victoria gets her cartel payoff, I take my thirty-percent broker fee, and you get your little family back. Assuming, of course, you survive the night."

The sedan sped onto the tarmac of Portland International Jetport, pulling up directly beneath the wing of a private Gulfstream jet idling on the runway.

As Ethan stepped out onto the tarmac under armed escort, his hand brushed against his coat pocket.

Inside lay the single smooth, green sea pebble Lily had given him on the porch that morning.