Ami Cleveland stood outside the sixty-story glass tower of the Kidd Group in lower Manhattan. She took a deep breath of the freezing air, trying to calm her racing heart.

She pushed open the heavy glass doors. The interior of the building was minimalist and cold, filled with sharp angles and gray steel. The atmosphere pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She walked straight to the front desk. She tried to keep her voice steady as she asked to see Jerad Kidd. The receptionist didn't even look up from her screen, coldly rejecting her because she had no appointment.

Ami backed away, her hands trembling. She moved to the waiting area on the side and pulled out her phone. Her screen was filled with urgent, desperate text messages from her mother.

She looked up and noticed a private elevator on the right side of the lobby. Two massive security guards stood perfectly still in front of it.

Just then, a small cart delivering floral arrangements rolled past her. The delivery man bumped the corner of a table, and a thick file folder slipped off his cart onto the floor.

Ami didn't think. She acted. She quickly bent down and picked up the file. She straightened her spine, pretending to be the delivery man's supervisor, and walked fast, following right behind the cart toward the private elevator.

As she got close, one of the security guards stepped forward and held out a massive hand, blocking her path. He demanded to see a high-level access pass.

Ami raised her chin. She forced her voice to be loud and authoritative.

"This is an urgent legal document regarding an SEC investigation," she lied, her heart hammering against her ribs. "If this is delayed, you will be held personally responsible."

The guard hesitated for a split second. In that exact moment, the light above the private elevator lit up. A soft "ding" echoed in the quiet space.

The solid steel doors slowly slid open. Frank Baxter, the executive assistant she had briefly seen at the hotel, stepped out first.

Frank saw Ami. His eyebrows pulled together in a tight frown. He immediately stepped forward, using his body to block her path.

Ami didn't care. She pushed past Frank's arm, her eyes locking onto the inside of the elevator.

Jerad Kidd stood in the center of the steel box. He wore a dark, custom-tailored suit. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket. His eyes looked at her like she was an inanimate object, completely devoid of warmth.

Ami's breath hitched. Her chest tightened painfully. She recognized that cold, flawless face from countless financial news segments.

She ignored the security guards rushing toward her. She lunged at the elevator and grabbed the thick metal doors with both hands just as they started to close.

The sensors caught her movement. The doors bounced back open. A flash of extreme, dangerous darkness crossed Jerad's eyes.

Ami ignored the stinging pain in her palms from the heavy doors. She spoke fast, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

"Mr. Kidd, I am Ami from Cleveland Industrial. I just need three minutes of your time."

Jerad didn't move a single muscle. He just stood there, looking down at her from his height. His eyes slowly scanned her wrinkled trench coat and her messy hair from last night.

He leaned forward slightly. When he spoke, his voice was low, deep, and meant only for her ears.

"Do the junk bonds of Cleveland Industrial really need to be pitched by a disheveled woman?" he asked, his tone dripping with mockery.

The words hit Ami like a physical slap to the face. The humiliation burned through her veins, striking at the core of the pride she used to hold so high.

Her eyes instantly filled with hot tears. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, forcing herself not to let the tears fall.

"Our core assets are solid," she tried to explain, but her voice shook violently, betraying her extreme humiliation.

Jerad straightened his posture. The absolute coldness returned to his eyes, looking at her as if she were a pathetic clown putting on a bad show.

He didn't say another word to her. He just gave Frank a very slight, almost invisible flick of his fingers.

Frank immediately stepped forward. He grabbed Ami's wrists and forcefully pried her fingers off the edge of the elevator doors.

Jerad reached out and pressed the button to close the doors.

"Throw this crazy woman out," he ordered, his voice flat and merciless.

Ami watched in absolute despair as the steel doors slid shut, cutting off the cold, handsome face of the man who held her family's survival in his hands.

The two security guards grabbed her by the arms. They lifted her off her feet. Under the strange, judging stares of every employee in the lobby, they dragged her roughly toward the front entrance.

Ami hit the cold, hard concrete of the New York sidewalk. The security guards had literally tossed her out of the glass doors.

She sat there for a moment, her palms scraped and stinging. Pedestrians walking by shot her looks of pity or disgust. She quickly pulled the collar of her trench coat up to hide her face, scrambled to her feet, and ran.

She ducked into a cheap, dingy coffee shop on the corner. The air smelled like burnt beans. She ordered the cheapest black coffee just to have something warm to hold against her freezing, shaking fingers.

She sat in the darkest booth in the back. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She looked at the names of the wealthy heirs and family friends who used to constantly beg for her attention.

She dialed the number of her ex-boyfriend, Clemens Patrick. He answered on the third ring, his tone impatient and dismissive.

The second Ami mentioned needing a cash flow bridge, Clemens cut her off. He claimed his family trust fund had just been frozen and quickly hung up the phone.

Ami swallowed the lump in her throat. She refused to give up. She dialed five more numbers. Every single one of them either rejected her call or sent her straight to voicemail.

Outside the dirty window, the sky turned gray and a cold drizzle began to fall. Ami's heart sank to the absolute bottom of her chest. The cold reality of the world hit her hard.

Suddenly, her phone screen lit up. It was a text message from an unknown number.

Ami opened it. Her blood ran cold. It was a photo of her mother, Else Odom, walking down the street, secretly followed by three large men in black jackets.

Ami clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the scream from ripping out of her throat. Her fingers shook violently as she dialed her mother's number.

The phone rang for a long time. Finally, Else answered. Her voice sounded incredibly tired and aged, lacking its usual sharp edge.

"Mom, where are you?" Ami gasped.

"They're here, Ami," Else said, her voice trembling. "The loan sharks. They've surrounded the perimeter of the Long Island estate."

"Call the police! I'm calling 911 right now!" Ami cried, tears finally spilling over her lashes.

"No," Else let out a bitter, broken laugh. "These people have umbrellas in the police department and in politics. The cops won't come."

Else suddenly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "Listen to me. Go back to your apartment right now. Get your passport. I've already arranged a ticket for you to Switzerland."

"No! I am not leaving you!" Ami shouted into the phone, ignoring the stares of the people in the coffee shop. "I am not leaving you alone in New York to face the federal charges and the mob!"

Else choked back a sob. "I made a mistake, Ami. A terrible investment decision years ago. That's what caused this hostile takeover."

Ami's mind raced. She remembered the news reports over the past few weeks. Cleveland Industrial was being shorted by a mysterious shell company.

Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She realized this wasn't just bad business. This was a premeditated, malicious slaughter. Normal borrowing would never fill this bottomless pit.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass erupted through the phone speaker, followed by a man's angry, violent shout.

Else screamed. The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in Ami's ear like a flatline.

Ami shot up from the booth. Her knee slammed into the table, knocking over her coffee cup. The scalding black liquid spilled all over the back of her hand, but she didn't even feel the burn.

She sprinted out of the coffee shop and into the freezing rain. She stood on the edge of the curb, frantically waving her arms to hail a cab.

A yellow taxi screeched to a halt. She threw open the door, jumped into the back seat, and shouted the address of her family's Long Island estate to the driver.

Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely unlock her tablet. She opened the browser and frantically searched for any information on Jerad Kidd's private schedule.

Every article, every press release showed a flawless, impenetrable public itinerary. There was no official way to get near him.

Desperation clawed at her throat. Then, a name flashed in her mind. Silas Chandler. He was one of her students, a rich kid who constantly bragged about hanging out in Jerad's outer social circles.

She dialed Silas's number. When he answered, she didn't politely ask. She used his failing final grade as leverage, half-threatening and half-begging him to find out where Jerad was tonight.

Silas hesitated for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, he gave in. He told her Jerad was going to an underground street racing track in Queens tonight.

Ami lowered the tablet. She stared out the window at the blurry, rain-streaked highway. The panic in her eyes slowly hardened into something cold and absolute. She was going to risk her life tonight.

The yellow cab slammed on its brakes outside the iron gates of the Cleveland family estate in Long Island. Ami threw a crumpled hundred-dollar bill at the driver and scrambled out into the rain.

She froze. The massive, ornate iron gates had been violently forced open. One side hung off its hinges.

Ami splashed through the muddy puddles in the driveway. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Three black Range Rovers were parked directly on the front lawn, their heavy tires tearing up her mother's favorite rose beds.

She ran up the steps and pushed open the heavy oak front doors. The grand living room was a disaster zone. Shards of antique porcelain vases covered the expensive rugs.

Four men in cheap, ill-fitting suits and visible neck tattoos were violently ripping priceless oil paintings off the walls, tossing them onto the floor.

"Stop it!" Ami screamed, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.

The man who appeared to be the leader turned around. He had a thick scar across his jaw. He looked Ami up and down, a nasty, predatory smile spreading across his face.

He walked slowly toward her. He pulled a crumpled legal document from his jacket and slapped it hard against Ami's chest.

"You have forty-eight hours," the man growled. "If we don't see the fifty million dollar bridge loan repayment by then, we take everything. Including your mother's life."

Ami's knees wanted to buckle, but she forced her spine straight. She glared at him. "This house is under a trust fund. You have no legal right to seize it."

The man let out a harsh laugh. He reached out and grabbed the lapels of her trench coat, yanking her forward. The sickening smell of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies hit her face.

"The law is just a suggestion for us, sweetheart," he whispered, his spit hitting her cheek. "Accidents happen all the time."

"Let her go!"

The sharp, authoritative voice of Else Odom rang out from the top of the stairs.

Ami looked up. Else was walking down the stairs, heavily leaning on the old butler. Her face was ashen, but her eyes still held the fierce authority of a woman who had run a corporate empire.

The leader let go of Ami's coat. He looked up at Else, whistled disrespectfully, and motioned for his men. They walked out, their heavy boots crunching on the broken porcelain.

The front door slammed shut. Ami immediately ran to the stairs and caught her mother just as Else's legs gave out.

Else gripped Ami's arm tightly and dragged her into the study. She locked the heavy mahogany door behind them. Her hands shook violently as she opened the wall safe and pulled out a thick manila envelope.

She shoved the envelope into Ami's hands. Inside was a fake passport with Ami's photo and a one-way first-class ticket to Switzerland.

"You leave tonight," Else ordered, tears finally spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. "I have already prepared my statement. I will take all the federal securities fraud charges."

Ami stared at the ticket. The dam broke. Tears flooded her eyes. She shook her head wildly, stepping back.

She looked her mother dead in the eye. With trembling hands, she grabbed the ticket and ripped it in half. Then she ripped it again, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

Else gasped. Her eyes widened in shock. She raised her hand, intending to slap Ami across the face for her disobedience, but her arm dropped weakly to her side.

Ami fell to her knees. She grabbed her mother's cold, shaking hands and pressed them to her wet cheeks. "I found a way to get the money. I promise you."

Else smiled a broken, hopeless smile. She shook her head. "No one on Wall Street will lend to the Cleveland family now. We are toxic."

Ami didn't say Jerad Kidd's name. She just looked up and said, "I'm going to see an invisible billionaire. He has the money."

After helping her exhausted mother to the sofa, Ami walked up the stairs to her bedroom. Ami paced anxiously in the quiet room, waiting for the cover of darkness. The trauma of the morning, waking up naked and vulnerable to a stranger, suddenly crashed over her with crushing weight. She sank to the floor, her body trembling violently as the fear and humiliation she had been suppressing finally broke through. She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, letting out a stifled, agonizing sob. But as she looked up and caught her tear-streaked reflection in the mirror, the image of her mother's pale, desperate face flashed in her mind. She couldn't afford to be weak. She bit down hard on her lower lip, forcing the tears to stop, and slowly stood up. It wasn't until the clock on the wall struck eight PM that she opened her massive walk-in closet.

She stripped off the ruined evening gown. She reached into the back of her closet and pulled out a pair of tight black leather pants and a fitted leather motorcycle jacket.

She pulled her long hair up into a tight, high ponytail. She stared at the woman in the mirror. Her eyes were red, but they were sharp and dangerous. She looked like a completely different person.

She opened her designer clutch, pulled out the heavy platinum Kidd family cufflink, and slipped it into the inner pocket of her leather jacket. It was her psychological armor.

Ami slipped out the back door of the estate, disappearing into the cold, rainy New York night, heading straight for Queens.