The billionaire awoke in the middle of the night… only to catch his fiancée dragging an unconscious maid down the hall.

Daniel instructed Mrs. Reyes to take Noah into the back bedroom and lock the door from the inside. He reached into his coat pocket, his hand closing around the heavy tactical flashlight he had grabbed from his office desk before leaving. It wasn't a weapon, but it was all he had.

He walked out onto the front porch, closing the wooden door firmly behind him.

Andrew stepped over the low chain-link fence, a cold, mocking smile playing across his face. Beside him stood a heavy-set man with a scarred jaw and a hand resting casually inside his jacket pocket.

"Hello, big brother," Andrew said, his voice smoother than Daniel remembered, devoid of the boyish rasp it had possessed six years ago. "You’re looking a little under the weather. Silk pajamas and bloodstains aren't usually your style."

Daniel stood at the top of the porch steps, his body rigid with rage. "You're alive."

"Slightly heavier, a bit more tan, but very much alive," Andrew chuckled, taking another step forward. "I have to hand it to Vanessa—she said you’d figure things out eventually, but I didn't expect you to beat us to the kid."

"You let Mom die thinking you were at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean," Daniel said, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, icy hatred. "She spent two years crying herself to sleep every single night until her heart failed. How do you live with yourself?"

Andrew’s smile faded, replaced by a dark, ugly sneer. "Mom cared about one thing: the Whitmore name and the company stock. She never gave a damn about me, and neither did Dad. I was the screw-up, remember? The one who couldn't keep his hands out of the cookie jar."

"You murdered a man on that boat, Andrew!" Daniel shouted, stepping down one stair. "A homeless man who had a family!"

"He was collateral damage," Andrew said dismissively, waving his hand as if brushing away a fly. "Just like Maria would have been if she hadn't gotten lucky tonight. Now, stop playing the righteous heir, Daniel. Step aside. I’m taking my son."

"You aren't touching him," Daniel said, shifting his weight into a defensive stance. "He doesn't even know who you are. To him, you're just a ghost."

Andrew leaned back against the hood of his SUV, crossing his arms. "He’s my blood, Daniel. Which means he’s a legal heir to twenty percent of the Whitmore trust under Dad's original will. Combined with the master stock certificates Vanessa took from your safe two hours ago, I now hold the majority voting block for Whitmore Holdings."

"Arthur froze the merger accounts twenty minutes ago," Daniel countered. "You have useless paper."

Andrew laughed—a sharp, barking sound that made Daniel’s skin crawl. "Arthur Vance is an eighty-year-old coward who does whatever the person with the most leverage tells him to do. Do you really think Vanessa didn't record Arthur taking kickbacks from our offshore accounts six years ago? By now, Vanessa is sitting in Arthur’s office, showing him those videos. By nine o'clock this morning, the board will vote to remove you as CEO, appoint me as interim trustee, and approve the merger."

Daniel felt a cold pit drop in his stomach. He knew Andrew was right about Arthur's cowardice. The old lawyer had spent his entire career protecting his own reputation above all else.

"You’ve lost, Daniel," Andrew said, stepping up the concrete path. "Now give me the boy, and I might let you keep a couple million from the liquidation."

"No," Daniel said.