Chapter 1

The gossip blog post was a splash of garish color on my screen, a stark contrast to the calm blue of the Caribbean Sea outside my window. The headline was crude and direct: "SILICON VALLEY HEIR CALEB HUGHES, 18, TO WED REAL ESTATE SHARK DEBRA CLARKSON, 55. A LOVE STORY OR A HOSTILE TAKEOVER?"

Beneath it was a photo. My son, Caleb, looking lost and thin, stood beside a woman old enough to be his grandmother. Debra Clarkson. I knew her by reputation. A ruthless tycoon who chewed up businesses and people for sport. She had a predatory smile, her hand possessively on Caleb's shoulder.

My blood ran cold.

I dropped my tablet on the sand. This wasn't possible. Caleb was a quiet, artistic kid. He was supposed to be safe in our Palo Alto home, looked after by the people I trusted. Andrew, the son of my late business partner, and the three girls I'd sponsored-Jennifer, Gabrielle, and Molly. I had treated them like my own.

I called my assistant, Marcus.

"Get the jet ready. Now. I'm going home."

"Sir? Is everything alright?"

"No, Marcus. Nothing is alright."

I hung up before he could ask more questions. The flight from my private island to California was a blur of fury and confusion. I had left Caleb in what I thought was a fortress of care and support. Andrew was supposed to be his brother. Jennifer, his potential partner. Gabrielle, his social guide. Molly, the caring friend he had a crush on.

I had paid for their prestigious educations, their social lives, their futures. I did it all so Caleb would never be lonely, so he would have a circle of loyal friends to protect him from a world that had always found him too gentle.

The gossip blog's words echoed in my head. Hostile takeover.

It felt exactly like that. A takeover of my son. A takeover of my home.

When the car pulled up to my estate, the first thing I noticed was the lawn. It was a deep, aggressive green, a type of fescue grass I had explicitly forbidden. Caleb had a severe, debilitating allergy to it.

The front door opened before I could use my key. Andrew Lester stood there, dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my first car. He was charismatic, handsome, and right now, his smile was a mask of condescending sympathy.

"Nathaniel, you're back. We didn't expect you so soon."

Behind him, Jennifer, Gabrielle, and Molly were arranged like a queen's court. They were draped in designer clothes, their expressions a mixture of pity and smugness.

I pushed past Andrew, my eyes scanning the opulent living room for my son.

"Where is Caleb?"

"He's upstairs, resting," Jennifer said, her voice smooth as polished glass. She was the ambitious one, the Stanford MBA I'd funded. "He's had a... difficult time lately."

Gabrielle, the socialite, chimed in, "He's developed a taste for more mature women, Nathaniel. It became a bit of a scandal. We've been trying to manage it."

Molly, the nursing student I'd thought was so kind, nodded sadly. "This commitment ceremony with Debra is for the best. It gives the situation some legitimacy. It contains the damage."

They spoke as if they were the masters of this house. As if they were discussing a business problem, not my son's life.

Then I saw him. Caleb was coming down the stairs, and my heart stopped.

He was pale and gaunt, his eyes hollow. He was limping, favoring his left leg with every painful step. A blotchy, red rash covered his neck and arms.

This wasn't a scandal. This was abuse.