I pocketed the file, my grief instantly incinerated by a rage so pure it tasted like copper. I had less than four hours to dismantle a billionaire’s empire and save a daughter I had never met.
I didn’t go to the police. Cops required warrants, and warrants took time. Time was the one currency I was flat out of.
Instead, I drove straight back to the suffocating rural outskirts of Franklin. It took me thirty minutes to track down the dilapidated farmhouse attached to the produce stand where Maren was staying. The porch sagged under the weight of the rain.
I pounded on the door. It opened a crack, revealing Maren. She didn’t look surprised to see me. She looked at me with the cold, calculating eyes of a sniper waiting for the target to step into the crosshairs.
“Maren, pack the boys. We have to go. I know everything,” I spilled the words out, panting. “I know about Tessa. I know about the twins. And I know about Clara. She’s alive, Maren. They’re taking her to Zurich tonight to use her as a donor for Grant—”
