The air in the Blackwood estate basement was six degrees above freezing.

The grand estate in Westchester was silent when Julian Blackwood arrived in an unmarked taxi at 3:00 PM.

He was bruised, disheveled, his expensive suit rumpled and covered in jailhouse grime. He had no phone, no credit cards, and no allies left. Every single person who had attended his holiday dinner four days ago had blocked his number.

"Idiots," Julian muttered to himself, stumbling up the front marble steps of his mansion. "All of them, idiots. They think I'm finished. They don't know about the Zurich bonds."

He pushed open the grand front doors. The house was cold, quiet, and completely empty. All the staff had been dismissed by court order.

Julian hurried into the grand library, locking the double mahogany doors behind him. He rushed toward the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with leather-bound first editions. He pulled a brass lever hidden behind a volume of Shakespeare.

With a low hydraulic hiss, the bookshelf slid open, revealing a heavy steel vault door with a digital keypad.

Julian’s hands shook violently as he punched in his six-digit code: 0-6-1-2-8-8—the date he had taken over Blackwood Capital.

The vault chimed green. The heavy steel door swung inward.

Julian practically lunged inside. "My gold... my bonds..."

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The vault was completely bare.

The shelves that had contained thirty million dollars in untraceable bearer bonds, five hundred ounces of fine gold bullion, and the deeds to his foreign properties were empty.

In the exact center of the concrete room sat a single, plain wooden folding chair.

Sitting on the chair was a young man sipping a bottle of San Pellegrino water, tossing a silver coin into the air and catching it with smooth, practiced ease.

"Looking for these?" Gideon Hart asked softly.

Julian reached for the pocket of his coat, looking for a weapon he didn't have. "Who the hell are you?! How did you get inside my vault?!"

"My name is Gideon Hart," the young man said, standing up slowly. He was half an inch taller than Julian, broader across the shoulders, and radiated an unmistakable, lethal dangerousness. "I'm the guy who spent the last three days clearing out your rat holes."

"Hart?" Julian gasped, his mind struggling to connect the name. "Hart... like... like Evelyn?"

"Like Evelyn," Gideon agreed, taking a slow step toward him. "Her younger brother. The one you told her was a useless junkie who died in a rehab facility eight years ago."

Julian stared at him, his face turning gray. "She... she told you about me?"

"She didn't have to tell me anything," Gideon said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy velvet pouch, tossing it at Julian’s feet. It spilled open, releasing thirty shiny, cold silver coins that scattered across the floor.