Chapter 4

Haylee reached the booth and held out her hand. Leo slipped his small hand into hers, adjusting the straps of his high-tech backpack with his free hand.

Behind them, Cynthia scrambled to her knees. Otto tried to help her up, but she slapped his hand away.

"She stole my bracelet!" Cynthia screamed, her voice shrill and desperate. "Check her bag! She's a thief!"

Haylee stopped walking. A deep sigh escaped her lips. She turned around, looking at Cynthia as if she were a pathetic insect.

Bertram's face darkened. The insult to a Keith family guest was unforgivable.

He pulled a radio from his jacket. "Lock down the lounge," he ordered the airport's head of security.

Bertram turned to Cynthia, his posture rigid. "Since you have made an accusation of theft, Madam, we will conduct a full public search of your belongings to clear Dr. Mathews's name."

Cynthia's face went from red to a sickly, translucent white. "No! I... I might have left it at home. Don't touch my bag!"

She lunged for her Birkin, but Bertram's bodyguards were faster.

One of the men grabbed the bag and tipped it upside down over the marble table.

Makeup, keys, and a heavy, unmarked orange pill bottle spilled out. The cap popped off. Dozens of illegal prescription pills scattered across the floor.

The surrounding passengers gasped. Otto buried his face in his hands. Cynthia's career was dead.

Haylee didn't stay to watch the rest of the meltdown. She turned and followed Bertram out the private exit.

A sleek, extended black Maybach was idling at the VIP curb.

Ridge Mason, the Keith family driver, opened the heavy door. Haylee guided Leo in first, then slid onto the plush leather seat.

The door closed, instantly cutting off the noise of the airport. Ridge put the car in drive, and they merged onto the highway toward Manhattan.

The moment they were alone, Leo dropped his serious expression. He crawled across the seat and buried his face in Haylee's stomach.

Haylee's cold exterior melted. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his hair, breathing in his scent.

Leo pulled back and grabbed his tablet. "Look," he said proudly.

He played a video. It was a high-definition recording he had taken on his tablet of Cynthia falling on her face, the pills rolling everywhere.

Haylee shook her head, a genuine smile touching her lips. "You recorded the whole meltdown? Good job, but be careful."

Leo swiped the screen. The video vanished, replaced by a dense dossier provided by John's intelligence team. A photo of a man with sharp features, a strong jaw, and piercing gray eyes filled the screen.

Benedict Keith. CEO of the Aethelred Group.

"This is your new boss," Leo said, tapping the screen. "He looks mean. You need to be careful, Mom."

So this was the face behind the name. Six years of encrypted emails, terse progress reports routed through intermediaries, occasional brief calls coordinated by Sam Rivers-and she had never once laid eyes on Benedict Keith's photograph. She had never asked. The arrangement had always been strictly professional, deliberately remote. She had preferred it that way.

Now she understood why.

Haylee stared at the photo. Her heart gave a strange, violent thump against her ribs. A phantom smell of herbal scent and sweat flashed through her mind. She rubbed her collarbone, feeling a sudden chill.

She pushed the feeling down. "He's just a businessman, Leo. I have the Chimera data. He needs me."

The Maybach glided into the city. The towering skyscrapers of Manhattan reflected in Haylee's eyes.

She picked up the car's secure phone and dialed her brother, John Slater.

"Are the lawyers ready?" she asked.

"Waiting on your word," John replied, his voice steady.

Leo reached over and handed her a warm, damp towel from the console. Haylee wiped the coffee residue from her fingers, her eyes softening as she looked at her son.

"We are approaching Aethelred Headquarters, Dr. Mathews," Ridge announced through the intercom.

Haylee looked out the window. The massive glass and steel tower pierced the sky.

She took a deep breath, adjusting the collar of her blazer. She pinned her silver ID badge to her lapel.

The car stopped in the private underground garage. Haylee pushed the door open, her heels hitting the concrete. The war was about to begin.