"I HUGGED A DEADLY BILLIONAIRE BY MISTAKE!" HE SAVED MY BROTHER, BUT HIS PRIVATE AUDIT REVEALED A SICK TRUTH ABOUT OUR PAST

Neville Island sat in the middle of the Ohio River, an industrial wasteland of chemical storage tanks, rusted scrap metal yards, and towering crane structures that looked like prehistoric beasts against the stormy gray sky. The rain had intensified into a torrential downpour by the time Gabriel’s replacement vehicle—a low, rumbling Dodge Charger with tinted glass—crossed the rusted steel bridge onto the island.

The scrap yard at the western tip of the island was silent. Massive mountains of crushed automobiles, tangled rebar, and shredded industrial steel rose thirty feet into the air. In the center of the muddy expanse stood a corrugated-steel sorting pavilion housing a three-story, twin-rotor car shredder, its massive steel teeth capable of reducing an entire engine block to fist-sized chunks of metal in four seconds.

The roar of the shredder’s diesel generator was already vibrating through the ground.

Gabriel parked forty yards from the entrance, cutting the headlights. The rain hammered against the roof like a machine gun burst.

"Stay in the car," Gabriel said, his voice flat and deadly.

"No," Claire said immediately. She looked at him through the darkness of the cabin, her jaw set, her knuckles white where she gripped the door handle. "Mason is my brother. My father left that ledger to protect us. If Julian sees you walking in alone, he’ll know it’s an ambush. If he sees me holding that book, he’ll hesitate long enough for you to get a clear angle."

Gabriel stared at her. For the first time, Claire saw something that wasn't calculated strategy in his face. It was admiration. A fierce, dangerous respect.

"You're out of your mind, Claire Bennett."

"I've spent seven years keeping my family alive on five hundred dollars a week, Mr. Mercer. You learn to handle yourself when the bills are due."

Gabriel reached over, unclipped a small, flat ceramic backup pistol from his ankle holster, and pressed it into her right hand. "Two pounds of trigger pull. No external safety. If anyone other than me reaches for you, you pull the trigger until it stops clicking. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

They stepped out into the blinding storm.

Inside the sorting pavilion, the noise of the machinery was deafening. Above the sorting conveyor, suspended ten feet above the yawning, spinning teeth of the shredder hopper by a heavy crane hook wrapped around his zip-tied wrists, was Mason. His face was bruised, a cut above his left eyebrow bleeding into his eye, his graduation gown torn to shreds.

Standing on the elevated steel catwalk above him was Julian Vance.

Julian looked completely unhinged. The manicured, elegant society figure from the newspapers was gone. His three-thousand-dollar cashmere overcoat was soaked in mud, his silver hair plastered to his skull, and his right hand held a remote control box wired to the crane winch.

Flanking the catwalk were three men in wet raincoats holding shotguns.

"Gabriel!" Julian’s voice boomed over the public address system, echoing against the corrugated walls. "You're late! And you brought the little printer girl! How touching!"

Gabriel walked into the center of the concrete floor, entirely in the open, his hands resting casually inside the pockets of his dark slacks. Claire walked half a step behind him, holding the green canvas ledger against her chest with both arms.

"Drop the winch, Julian," Gabriel said. He didn't yell. He didn't have to. His voice cut through the diesel rumble with terrifying clarity. "Your offshore accounts in the Caymans were frozen twenty minutes ago by federal marshals. Your pilot at Allegheny County Airport was detained at the hangar. You have nowhere to go."

Julian let out a shrill, hysterical laugh. "You think I care about the money now, Gabriel? Your father built this empire on bodies! I was the one who did the dirty work while he played country club gentleman! And then he handed everything to you—a thirty-year-old street fighter who thought he could clean the blood off the family name with university scholarships!"