A Six-Year-Old Girl Came to My Mansion in Her Sick Mother’s Place—Then the Name on Her Résumé Brought Back a Secret Buried Fifteen Years Ago.

The force of the crash threw Lucas forward against the leather seats. Alarms blared inside the SUV, and the heavy smell of ozone filled the air as the airbags deployed.

"Sir! We're pinned!" the driver yelled, struggling with the door.

Lucas ignored the ringing in his ears. He reached across the aisle, grabbing Anna by her shoulders. She was conscious, but dazed, a small cut bleeding slightly near her hairline.

"Stay down," Lucas commanded.

He pulled a sleek black sidearm from his shoulder holster, his eyes scanning the rainy night through the shattered side window. The dark truck that had rammed them was idle ten yards away. Three men in tactical gear stepped out, rain pouring off their black helmets. They weren't street thugs. Their movements were precise, disciplined, and military.

They raised silenced rifles.

Suddenly, two rapid gunshots echoed through the storm, but not from Lucas’s car.

One of the tactical shooters dropped to the pavement. The other two spun around as a heavy black sedan skidded across the wet asphalt, blocking the shooters' line of sight.

The rear door of the sedan popped open.

"Get in!" a voice barked through the rain.

Lucas didn't hesitate. He wrapped one arm around Anna, pulled her out of the wrecked SUV, and scrambled into the back of the sedan. The moment the door slammed shut, the sedan reversed at high speed, tires screeching against the wet pavement before spinning around and disappearing into the darkness of the harbor district.

Lucas shoved his gun back into his holster and looked at the driver.

It wasn't one of his men.

Sitting in the front passenger seat was an elderly man with silver hair, wearing a high-collared coat. He turned around slowly, revealing sharp, hollow cheeks and a thick scar running along his jawline.

"You drive like your father, Lucas," the old man said, his voice dry like rust. "Aggressive. Reckless."

Lucas’s body went rigid. "Marcus Vance."

Marcus Vance—the younger brother of Arthur Vance, and the current ghost ruler of the Vance family, long thought to be hiding in Europe.

"Don't look at me like that, boy," Marcus said calmly, gesturing to the rain outside. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have wasted two good men pulling you out of that wreck."

"Why are you in Boston, Marcus?" Lucas demanded, his hand lingering near his weapon. "And why are your men hunting us?"

"Those weren't my men," Marcus replied, his eyes drifting over to Anna, who was leaning heavily against Lucas's shoulder. "Those were Mercer's men. Julian Mercer."

The name struck the cabin like a dead weight.

Julian Mercer was Lucas's chief financial adviser—the man who controlled all the legitimate business fronts for the Blackwood family. He was quiet, meticulous, and had served the family for twenty-five years.

"Julian works for me," Lucas said coldly. "He doesn't have tactical teams."

"He doesn't work for you, Lucas. He never did," Marcus sneered, pulling a thin cigar from his pocket without lighting it. "Julian Mercer was placed inside your family thirty years ago by my brother and your father. He is the custodian of the secret ledger. The ledger that holds the truth about what happened at the harbor fifteen years ago."

Lucas turned his head slowly toward Anna. She was looking at Marcus with open hatred.

"He's telling the truth about Julian," Anna whispered, her voice weak. "Julian was the one who came to my house three days ago. He told me if I didn't hand over the diary, he would make sure Emma never reached her seventh birthday."

Lucas’s chest tightened. A dark, terrifying rage began to boil beneath his calm exterior.

"Why did you send Emma to my house with a cleaning résumé?" Lucas asked Anna, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

Anna looked up at him, tears welling in her pale blue eyes. "Because Julian controls every precinct, every harbor dock, and every security team in this city. The only place he couldn't send his men without starting a full-scale war... was inside your gates."

She took a shaky breath, her small hand reaching out to touch the fabric of Lucas’s wet shirt.

"I didn't send her there to ask for a job, Lucas," Anna said softly. "I sent her there because I knew you were the only man in Boston strong enough to keep her alive."

Marcus Vance chuckled softly from the front seat, a sound entirely devoid of humor.

"She left out the most important part, Lucas," Marcus said, leaning closer over the headrest, his grey eyes piercing through the dark. "Do you know why Julian wants that child?"

Lucas stared at Marcus. "Speak."

"Because Emma isn't just Anna's daughter," Marcus said, a cruel smile forming at the edge of his mouth. "She is the sole legal heir to the Vance-Blackwood trust. A trust worth three billion dollars... that can only be unlocked by Victor Blackwood's direct grandchild."

Lucas froze. The car fell entirely silent except for the heavy thud of raindrops against the roof.