Chapter 3 Prelude to the Frenzy

Alistair Snyder was pruning an orchid.

The greenhouse at the Long Island estate was humid, smelling of damp earth and money. Alistair held the shears with a steady hand. He was eighty-two, but his grip was still iron.

The phone on the wicker table rang. It was the private line. The one that bypassed the secretaries and the assistants.

Alistair picked it up.

"Speak."

"She is gone, sir," Sterling's voice came through the speaker. "She signed the amendment."

Alistair's hand jerked. The shears snapped shut, decapitating a rare purple Vanda orchid. The bloom fell to the terracotta tiles.

"Signed it?" Alistair roared.

The blood pressure monitor on his wrist began to beep. A frantic, high-pitched warning.

"That idiot boy," Alistair wheezed. "He's destabilizing the Fourth Generation Clause right before the vote!"

Pain, sharp and blinding, exploded in the center of his chest. It felt like a sledgehammer breaking through his ribs. Alistair dropped the phone. He clutched his chest, his fingers digging into his linen shirt.

The shears clattered to the floor.

"Help," he gasped.

Shadows moved in the corners of the greenhouse. The medical team, always on standby, rushed forward.

Alistair grabbed the arm of his personal lawyer, who had been standing by the door.

"Get her back," Alistair choked out, his vision tunneling. "She holds the private key to the offshore medical trust... without it... I can't authorize the procedure... Freeze Claudius's voting rights if he fails."

The darkness took him.

Twenty miles away, the bass dropped.

The entrance to Club Elysium in the Meatpacking District was a chaotic sea of bodies. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and expensive perfume.

Dylan stepped out of the Uber. She was wearing a black jumpsuit. It was backless, plunging dangerously low. She threw a leather moto jacket over her shoulders. She looked like a weapon.

Zoe York pushed through the line of people waiting behind the velvet rope. She grabbed Dylan in a hug that squeezed the air out of her lungs.

"Smell that?" Zoe shouted over the noise. "That's the smell of a rising stock price!"

The bouncer, a mountain of a man named Tiny, saw Dylan. He unhooked the velvet rope immediately.

"Ms. Watkins," he said, nodding. "Welcome back."

Dylan smiled. It wasn't the polite Snyder smile. It was a wolfish grin.

"Tonight, Tiny, the name is Cash."

They walked in. The noise hit Dylan like a physical wave. The heavy thrum of the bass vibrated in her sternum, replacing the hollow ache of anxiety that had lived there for years.

They bypassed the main floor and went straight to the VIP section. The air here was cooler, scented with oud wood.

Three men in bespoke suits turned as she walked by. Wall Street types. Sharks. Dylan knew the look. They were assessing her value.

One of them stepped forward.

"Can I buy you a-"

"No," Dylan said. She didn't even slow down.

Zoe laughed. "Still a magnet for the suits."

"I'm done with suits," Dylan shouted. "I want to see something else."

They reached their booth. A waiter appeared with a tower of Ace of Spades champagne. Sparklers erupted from the bottles, casting harsh, flickering light on Dylan's face. She looked wild.

In the back of a Maybach speeding down the LIE, Claudius's phone rang.

He answered it.

"Sir," Sterling said. His voice was trembling. "Your grandfather is in the ICU."

Claudius froze. The ink on his thumb was still wet.

"What happened?"

"He had an attack when he heard Mrs. Snyder had signed the papers and left."

Claudius pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was forming behind his eyes.

"It was a necessary business decision, Sterling."

"He says... he says he needs her for the authorization, sir. He's refusing the surgery without her."

Claudius cursed. It was a rare, violent sound.

"Turn around," he ordered the driver. "To the hospital."

He pulled up the tracking app on his phone. The one linked to her official devices. He needed to find Dylan. He needed to drag her to the hospital to play the loving wife one last time.

The map loaded.

No signal.

Location sharing disabled.

Claudius stared at the screen. A cold knot of panic formed in his gut. It wasn't just about the grandfather. For the first time in three years, he didn't know where she was.

He had lost the asset.

In the club, Dylan raised a glass of champagne. The bubbles fizzed against her nose.

"To the stiff bastard," she yelled. "May he merge with his Excel spreadsheets."