Chapter 2 - The Ground FloorThe elevator didn't drop fast enough. Claire pressed her forehead against the cool, mirrored wall, watching the reflection of her own chest rise and fall in ragged, uneven jerks. Her pulse hammered behind her ears.
Ding.
The lobby was dead quiet. A single security guard, an older guy named Hector who usually gave her butterscotch candies from a tin behind the counter, looked up from his monitor.
"Late night, Mrs. Sterling?" Hector said, standing up. "Need me to flag a cab? Freezing out there."
"No cab, Hector. Thank you." Her voice sounded too thin. She reached into her purse, but her fingers were shaking so violently she dropped her key ring on the stone floor. It made a sharp, echoing snap.
She bent down to grab it, but the pressure in her lower abdomen spiked—a sharp, pinching cramp that forced a wet gasp out of her.
"Whoa, easy," Hector said, coming around the desk. He bent down and scooped up the keys, holding them out to her with a furrowed brow. "You okay? You look pale as a sheet."
"Just... heartburn," she lied, snatching the ring.
Behind them, the elevator chime rang out again. The digital display above the brass doors lit up: Penthouse Call Active.
Claire pushed through the heavy glass revolving door into the New Year's Eve freeze. The wind off the Hudson River hit her face like a bucket of ice water, stinging her eyes and cutting straight through the wool coat. Snow was coming down in wet, heavy clumps, turning the curb into gray sludge.
Across the avenue, a black Lincoln Town Car sat idling with its hazard lights blinking. The driver’s side door opened immediately. Marcus Vance stepped out, his collar turned up against the wind, holding an umbrella he didn't bother to open.
"Get in," Marcus said, not waiting for her to cross.
Claire stumbled off the curb, her right shoe sinking straight into three inches of slush. The freezing water soaked her sock instantly. She cursed under her breath—a clumsy, undignified swear that made Marcus grimace slightly as he caught her elbow and helped her into the back seat.
"Did you take anything from the safe?" Marcus asked, slamming the door behind her and sliding into the front passenger seat.
"Just my phone," she breathed, shivering so hard her teeth clicked. "And my mother's watch. That’s it."
Marcus looked at the rearview mirror. "Drive, Leo. Take the West Side Highway."
The Lincoln pulled smoothly into traffic just as Ryan burst through the lobby doors of the tower, waving his arms in the snow. He slipped on the icy curb, catching himself on a concrete planter, his suit jacket flapping open in the wind. He looked small. Absurd.
Claire turned her head away from the window, staring down at her soaked shoe. "He thinks he’s getting the trust funds on Tuesday."
"He won't," Marcus said, pulling a manila folder from his briefcase. "Because your father didn't leave the trust to you."
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Claire looked up, her breath catching. "What?"
"He left it to a blind partnership," Marcus said quietly. "And you aren't the only beneficiary."
