Chloe pulled the faded curtains shut, blocking out the gray afternoon light.

She reached into the waterproof pocket inside her hoodie and pulled out a worn photograph. It was the only picture she had of her mother, Eleanor.

She flipped the photo over. A string of faded numbers was written in blue ink across the back.

Chloe stared at the numbers. She cross-referenced them in her head with her grandmother's birth date, the date of her death, and the coordinates of the trailer park.

Nothing fit.

She pressed her thumb hard against her temple. A sharp pain spiked behind her eyes.

The numbers were not enough. The official police report said her mother died in a car crash. Chloe knew that was a lie.

She placed the photo and the rosewood box back into the cardboard box and shoved it under the bed.

Hundreds of miles away, the lights of Manhattan offered no such silence.

Axel Sterling stood with his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Sterling Building's top floor. He wore a black bespoke shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

Four Wall Street executives stood in a line in front of his massive mahogany desk. Sweat beaded on their foreheads.

Axel held a custom silver Zippo lighter in his right hand. He flipped the lid open. Clack. He snapped it shut. Clack.

The metallic sound echoed in the dead silence of the office.

Axel picked up a thick folder from his desk and tossed it forward. It hit the floor and slid to the feet of the lead executive.

"Your incompetence cost this firm three percent on the acquisition," Axel said. His voice was low, carrying a physical weight that made the men shrink back.

"Mr. Sterling, the market shifted-"

Axel waved his hand, cutting the man off. "Get out. Redo it."

The executives scrambled to pick up the papers. They rushed out of the double doors, pulling them shut with a soft click.

The side door to the office opened. Caleb Stone, Axel's chief assistant, walked in. His face was pale.

"The Beaumont family is moving," Caleb said, handing Axel a single sheet of paper. "The illegitimate daughter is returning to the city."

Axel did not take the paper. "I do not care about the Beaumonts' pathetic squabbles."

"It might be connected to Eleanor Montgomery's death," Caleb added.

Axel stopped playing with the lighter. He slowly turned his head to look at Caleb. His eyes were cold and sharp.

He took the paper and scanned the text. A smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

Axel's private cell phone vibrated on the desk. It was the secure line from the Sterling estate.

He picked it up. "Speak."

"Sir," the estate manager's voice trembled. "Lady Sterling has collapsed. Your grandmother is unresponsive."

Axel stood up violently. His heavy leather chair slid backward with immense force, slamming into the floor-to-ceiling window with a muffled thud. The custom silver lighter slipped from his grasp, clattering sharply against the mahogany desktop.

"Keep her alive," Axel ordered. "If her heart stops, I will bury your entire medical team with her."

He hung up the phone and strode toward the private elevator. Caleb ran to keep up.

"Contact every neurologist in the world," Axel said as the elevator doors closed. "Fly them here."

"Sir, the only one who can handle this level of neural degradation is The Surgeon," Caleb said. "We cannot find him. Even the dark web brokers have nothing."

Axel stared at the metal doors. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together.

"Tear the dark web apart," Axel said. "Find him."

The elevator chimed at the basement garage. Axel walked straight to the armored black Maybach. He got in, and the car shot up the ramp, tearing into the New York night.