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.

The rideshare car jerked to a stop outside an abandoned industrial park on the edge of Queens.

The driver unlocked the doors. He refused to drive any further into the area, intimidated by the massive floodlights cutting through the dark sky and the deafening roar of high-performance engines.

Ami stepped out into the cold night. Her leather boots sank into a muddy puddle. She ignored the dirt and walked alone toward the chain-link fence that surrounded the makeshift racing track.

Four massive men smelling strongly of motor oil and stale beer blocked the entrance. They crossed their arms, looking down at her.

Ami didn't flinch. She raised her chin and stated that Silas Chandler was expecting her. One of the guards looked suspicious but pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt to check.

A few minutes later, Silas pushed his way through the loud, rowdy crowd. His silver hair caught the harsh light. He grabbed Ami's arm and pulled her inside the gates.

Silas stopped and stared at her tight leather outfit. His jaw practically hit the floor. This was a shocking contrast to the strict, conservative professor he knew in the lecture hall.

Ami ignored his staring. She grabbed his forearm, her fingers digging into his jacket. "Where is Jerad Kidd?" she yelled over the noise.

Silas pointed toward the center of the track. There was a raised VIP viewing area surrounded by a sea of people and exotic sports cars.

Ami pushed her way through the dense crowd. The sharp, toxic smell of burning rubber and cheap alcohol invaded her nose, making her stomach churn.

She finally reached the edge of the VIP section. She looked up and saw him.

Jerad Kidd was sitting on a plush leather sofa. He wore a black motorcycle jacket, the collar slightly open, revealing his throat. He held a glass of amber whiskey in one hand.

Sitting sideways across his lap was a stunning blonde supermodel. She was giggling, peeling a grape, and slowly feeding it past his lips.

Jerad's eyes were half-closed. He looked bored, exuding a dangerous, suffocating aura of a man who cared about absolutely nothing in the world.

Ami stared at the scene. The humiliation and anger boiled in her blood like hot lava.

She thought of her mother's pale face. She thought of the shattered porcelain on her living room floor. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She shoved past the last row of fanatic racing fans.

She marched toward the VIP platform, her boots clicking sharply against the concrete.

Frank Baxter, standing near the stairs, spotted her instantly. He signaled two guards, and they immediately stepped in front of Ami, blocking her path like a brick wall.

"You don't belong here. Leave," Frank warned her, his voice cold and professional.

Ami didn't care. She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed Jerad's name, her voice tearing through the heavy metal music blasting from the speakers.

Jerad, sitting on the sofa, slowly lifted his eyelids. His dark gaze cut through the crowd and landed perfectly on Ami.

For a fraction of a second, as his eyes swept over the tight leather clinging to her curves, a flash of dark surprise crossed his face. But it was instantly replaced by a deep, cruel mockery.

He patted the supermodel's waist, signaling her to get up. He slowly rose to his feet.

Jerad walked to the edge of the VIP platform. He looked down at Ami, who was struggling against the guards like a trapped animal.

He didn't order the guards to let her go. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her desperate struggle like it was an entertaining play.

Suddenly, the aggressive roar of a modified engine shattered the tension. A custom Porsche 911 rolled up to the starting line on the track behind them.

Dean Reyes, the undisputed king of the underground circuit, jumped out of the driver's seat. He looked up at Jerad, raised his middle finger high in the air, and shouted a filthy challenge.

The crowd erupted into absolute madness. Everyone's attention snapped to the starting line, hungry for the deadly race.

Jerad pulled his eyes away from Ami. The boredom vanished from his face, replaced by a bloodthirsty thrill. He turned his back on her and walked down the stairs toward his sleek black Ferrari.

Ami watched her only chance walking away. Her eyes burned red with panic. She fought against the guards' grip with everything she had, but she couldn't break free.