The next morning my phone blew up.

By the third day the recording was everywhere. The company chat, the client chats, all of it.

Jackson had sent it to every place he could reach.

"Director Finch, you're suspended for now. Internal audit turned up some problems with you, and your pay is being held."

I hung up, sat in my rented apartment, and stared at the ceiling.

Jackson showed up that afternoon.

I opened the door and he shoved his way in with a fruit basket in his hand.

"Clyde, I came to see your mother."

"You son of a—"

He dropped onto the couch like he owned it. "Clyde, that business with the two hundred grand, I'm letting it go."

My mother froze, staring at me with doubt in her eyes.

I froze too.

"Clyde, you... you took money from him?"

I was about to say something back.

"Ma'am, don't blame Clyde," Jackson sighed. "He only did it because he needed the money."

Guilt washed over her face. She turned to pour tea, saying as she went,

"Jackson, honestly, my Clyde is a good, simple boy. If he's ever weighed you and Serena down, please bear with him a little!"

He steadied her with a hand and fussed over her. "Ma'am, is your health all right? I know a few good doctors. I'll arrange a checkup for you sometime."

Held up by his arm, she was actually moved.

"Jackson, you're such a good person. For my Clyde to have friends like you and Serena, he's truly blessed."

I stood off to the side, watching my mother be spun in circles by Jackson, something churning inside me.

Right up until Jackson left, she never once looked me in the eye.

That night.

Serena came too.

"Sign."

I took it and looked. It was an agreement waiving my shared stake in the marital home.

"That recording, you know Jackson faked it."

"You—" She started to say something, then a dull thud came from inside the apartment.

My mother had collapsed on the floor, her face frighteningly pale.

"Ma!"

I rushed over and lifted her up.

Her lips trembled as she spoke. "Clyde... what's wrong between you and Serena..."

And with that, she passed out.

I gathered her up and ran out the door.

Serena stood in the doorway. She didn't stop me, and she didn't help.

She just stood there, watching me run off, her face as cold as if she were looking at a stranger.

Two in the morning, and the hospital corridor lights were a harsh, blinding white.

I crouched outside the emergency room.

A nurse came over and handed me a bill.

"Excuse me, the patient has an acute stroke. Please settle the payment first, then come back to complete admission."

I took the slip and glanced at the number.

Eighteen thousand.

The balance across all my bank cards came to nine thousand three hundred.

I hunkered down at the far end of the hallway.

A text from Jackson came in:

"I can get your mom admitted first."

I stared at that line, my finger hovering over the screen for five seconds.

Then I called him.

"Jackson, I..."

"Cut the crap. You want your mom to live, then move it. The Elite Club, basement."

He hung up right away.

I got to my feet, my legs a little numb.

The Elite Club, the most exclusive private club in the city. A single year's membership cost more than I made in three.

I walked into the lobby, and a big man in a black suit came toward me.

"You're Clyde Finch, right? Mr. Dickerson's waiting. Come with me."

I followed him down the corridor and two flights of stairs.

He pushed open an iron door, and several thugs closed in fast and pinned me to the ground.

"Mr. Dickerson, he's here."

"Strip him down. Don't leave a single thing on him!"

Jackson sat on the sofa, legs crossed, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand.

The men rushed in and clawed at my clothes in a clumsy scramble.

While I was thrashing and being held down, a short thug with a burn scar on the back of his hand got shoved off balance and fell.

"You're absolutely useless!" Jackson kicked him and said with disgust, "Kane, go guard the door."

Kane didn't dare say a word. He scrambled up, head down, and went to the door.

Struggling, I caught a glimpse of the phone screen lit up in Kane's pocket.

I didn't have time to think about it. A fist landed on the back of my head, and I was thrown into the basement.

"Jackson, what the hell do you want?"

Jackson stood and walked over.

"Clyde, about your mom. My uncle says he can arrange the admission."

"But there's a condition."

He pulled out a document and tossed it in front of me.

"Sign it, and your mom gets a VIP ward right away."

I looked down. Five words across the top:

Patent Licensing Agreement.

"Jackson, you faked a recording to smear me, now you lock me up here, and you want me to hand over the only thing my father left me?"

"You son of a bitch, are you insane? Or do you take me for an idiot?"

He snorted out a laugh.

"Heh. Clyde, Clyde. You really think you're in any position to bargain?"

"Locked up down here, you're nothing but a stray dog."

He swirled the wine again, easy as ever, took a sip, and went on, pleased with himself:

"Please. That junk chip patent of your dad's, I'm doing you a favor by even bothering to squeeze eight million out of it."

I stared at him, dumbstruck.

"What? Not signing?" He smiled. "Fine. Your mom can just lie there in the observation room. Beds are tight, though. Wait three, five days, she'll probably make it up the list."

"Jackson, don't push it."

"Push it?" He leaned in close, dropping his voice. "When you hung that wooden sign at my wedding, you didn't think that was pushing it?"

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.

"Your wedding?"

"That's right. My wedding. You walked out on it, so I had no choice but to step in for you. Hahaha."

He sneered, that leer all over his face, then twirled the stun baton and pointed it, toying, at my crotch.

"Not like you, Clyde. You couldn't step up for anything. Hahaha."

"Screw you, Jackson, you'll die a rotten death, you... ugh... ah... nngh..."

One of the thugs jabbed the stun baton into me.

All the strength drained out of me at once, and I rolled and convulsed on the floor, trying to twist away from it.

Jackson was out of patience. His face went cold in an instant.

"Sign. Now."

"No."

His expression collapsed. He flicked his hand.

Two of the enforcers rushed in and pinned me to the floor.

Jackson crouched down, set his shoe on my fingers, and ground them back and forth under the sole.

"I'll give you one more chance. Sign or not?"

"No."

He pulled out his phone, opened a livestream, and aimed it at my face.

"Take a look, everyone. This is Clyde Finch, your former director. On his knees, begging me to let that eighteen-thousand-dollar thing slide."

I could hear the comments coming in, the little alerts pinging without a break.

"This guy's a clown, right?"

"Took the money and still causes trouble. No shame at all."

"Mr. Dickerson's a bigger man than me, still wasting words on trash like that."

Jackson shut off the stream, pleased, and bore down hard on my fingers.

Then he took the stun baton from one of his men, thumbed the switch, and the blue arc crackled to life.

The baton slammed into my back.

Current tore through me, my muscles seizing all at once, and I convulsed and dropped to the floor.

"Sign or not?"

"No... sign..."

A second jolt.

A third.

The instant the current shot up my spine, I heard my own teeth crack together, my tongue split open, my mouth filling with the taste of rust.

My body arched on its own and slammed back down, ribs striking the concrete, everything inside me twisting together like it was caught in one huge fist.

I wanted to scream, but all my throat pushed out was a raw scrape of air, as if a hand were clamped around it and I couldn't breathe.

I clawed at my own neck with both hands, trying to force a little room to draw a breath.

My fingers found the jade bead at my throat, warm, glowing faintly blue.

So with the last of my strength, I tore it loose and hurled it at the corner of the wall.

Crack.

Fragments sprayed. From the core of the bead, a tiny chip popped free.

It blinked fast, throwing off a harsh red light, beeping. Beep, beep, beep.

In the dim basement, that red glow was blinding.

Jackson froze for a second, glanced down at the shattered jade scattered across the floor, then laughed again.

"Ha. I thought it was something. A busted rock. Who's that supposed to scare?"

His men laughed along with him. Someone kicked the pieces aside.

But Kane, standing guard at the door, stared at the broken bead on the ground, and his face changed all at once.

Like he'd seen something he was never supposed to see.

Jackson raised the baton again and came toward me.

...

I'd lost count of how many times I'd been shocked.

I lay on the floor, shaking all over, the taste of blood welling up in my mouth.

"Clyde. Ten minutes now, and you still won't sign. I'm out of patience."

"You want to die this bad, fine. I'll give you what you want."

The baton came down again, this time swinging for my head.

That was when it happened.

A rush of heavy footsteps came down the corridor.

Closer. Louder.

Jackson's hand stopped in midair. Everyone heard it.

BANG.

The iron door was kicked in from the outside.

"Nobody move."