THE MAN WHO WORE A WHITE ROSE AND BURNED AN EMPIRE DOWN TO ASHES

The air in the East Salon was thick with the scent of white roses and nervous sweat. Dozens of high-society wedding guests sat in rows of gilt-edged chairs, whispering frantically among themselves while two armed private security guards blocked the double doors leading to the foyer. Julian strode into the room, his black tuxedo immaculate, the white rose on his lapel a stark emblem of calm in the middle of a gathering storm. Martha trailed closely behind him, her hands clasped tightly together.

At the far end of the salon, standing near the French doors that opened onto the back gardens, was Marcus Vance—no relation by blood, but Helena’s estranged brother and a disgraced commodities trader whose license had been revoked three years prior. Marcus held a heavy, matte-black 9mm pistol pointed loosely at the floor, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His expensive silk tie was untied, hanging loosely around his collar.

"Julian!" Marcus shouted over the nervous murmur of the crowd, lifting the barrel of the gun so it pointed directly at Julian’s chest. "Tell these rent-a-cops to stand down or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet through every expensive piece of crystal in this room starting with you!"

The guests gasped, several women covering their mouths to stifle screams. Julian did not flinch. He raised a single hand, signaling his security guards to lower their weapons. He took two steady steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Marcus.

"Put the gun down, Marcus," Julian said, his voice dangerously low and resonant. "You’re already an accessory to federal grand larceny. Adding armed assault and kidnapping to your rap sheet is a fantastic way to ensure you die in a supermax prison."

Marcus’s hand shook violently. "You think you won, don't you? You think you can just freeze Helena’s accounts and call the feds like a king on his throne! We built that pipeline! Helena carried your child!"

"Helena carried a Trojan horse," Julian corrected coldly, stopping just ten feet away from the madman. "And you funded her offshore accounts with embezzled margin calls from my own venture capital firm. I have the wire receipts right here on my phone."

Marcus laughed hysterically, a sharp, broken sound. "You think money is the only thing at stake here, Julian? Look outside!"

Julian glanced past Marcus toward the French doors. Through the sparkling glass, a black armored van was crashing through the perimeter fence, its tires chewing up the manicured lawn.

"What is that?" Julian demanded, his stern facade cracking just a fraction as a cold realization hit him.

Marcus grinned maniacally, his finger tightening visibly around the trigger. "That’s the cleanup crew, Julian. And they aren't here for Helena. They're here for the baby."