The air in Burleigh Livingston's office was freezing. He kept the thermostat at sixty degrees to keep everyone uncomfortable.

Burleigh sat behind his massive desk, reviewing the short-sell documents for the Owen Group's media subsidiary.

Lewis walked into the office. He looked pale. He held a standard manila envelope.

"Boss," Lewis said, his voice tight. "The girl from last night. She sent something back."

Burleigh stopped tapping his pen. He looked up. No one returned five million dollars.

He took the envelope and ripped it open. The check fluttered onto his desk. It was perfectly intact.

A yellow sticky note drifted down next to it.

Burleigh picked up the note. He read the black eyeliner handwriting. Medical fees for your psychotic break. I don't accept garbage.

Burleigh stared at the words. A strange pressure built in his chest. A second later, a deep, rough laugh ripped from his throat.

Vance stepped forward, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. He thought Burleigh was having a real episode.

Burleigh laughed until his ribs ached. He rubbed his thumb over the eyeliner ink. "Interesting. Very interesting."

He looked at Vance. "Who is she?"

"Francisqui Noel," Vance said, reading from an iPad. "Franklin Owen's illegitimate daughter. She's a mute. They keep her hidden."

Burleigh's eyes narrowed. He tilted his head. "An Owen? Is Franklin sending a spy into my house?"

He looked at the check again. He shook his head. "No. Franklin is too stupid for a play like this. This is her."

Burleigh's mind raced, connecting dots that didn't exist. He assumed she was playing the ultimate game of hard-to-get. She returned the money because she wanted the whole bank. She wanted to be Mrs. Livingston.

"Greedy," Burleigh whispered. A dark thrill shot down his spine. "She knows I need a wife to unlock the trust. She's pitching herself."

Miles away, the door to the attic unlocked.

Franklin walked in, holding a blood-red silk dress. He threw it on the bed.

"Put it on," Franklin commanded. "Grossman is downstairs. If you embarrass me tonight, I will cut off the maintenance payments for your mother's grave."

Francisqui's breath hitched. Her fists clenched so hard her nails broke the skin of her palms. She looked at the dress. It was cut low, designed to make her look like a piece of meat.

She forced her muscles to relax. She gave Franklin a slow, obedient nod.

Franklin smiled. "Good. The cage taught you a lesson."

Back in the freezing office, Burleigh picked up his secure phone. He dialed Vance's number.

"Get me an invitation to the Owen dinner tonight," Burleigh said.

"Sir?" Vance asked. "You haven't left the estate for a social event in two years. It ruins the medical narrative."

Burleigh traced the edge of the sticky note. "A madman needs fresh air."

He folded the note and slid it into his breast pocket, right over his heart. He wasn't going to the dinner to socialize. He was going to claim his asset.

The Owen dining room smelled of roasted lamb and expensive perfume.

Francisqui sat rigid in her chair. The red silk dress clung to her skin like a second layer of sweat.

Mr. Grossman sat directly across from her. He was sweating through his suit. He chewed with his mouth open, his eyes glued to Francisqui's chest.

Kaleigh sat next to Grossman. She held a glass of Merlot. "Oops," Kaleigh said, flicking her wrist.

Red wine splashed across Francisqui's lap, staining the silk.

"Oh no, did my hand slip?" Kaleigh smirked.

Grossman immediately reached across the table. He grabbed a cloth napkin. "Let me help you with that, Francisqui."

His thick, damp hand pressed onto her bare thigh.

Francisqui's stomach violently rejected the contact. She shot out of her chair. Her hand gripped the silver steak knife next to her plate.

Franklin slammed his fist on the table. He glared at her. Sit down. For the family.

Francisqui's lungs tightened. She couldn't breathe. She looked at the door. Where was he?

The heavy dining room doors flew open. The butler stumbled backward, his face drained of color.

"Sir," the butler stammered. "Mr. Livingston is here."

The room went dead silent. Franklin dropped his fork. It clattered against his plate. "Which Livingston?"

"Burleigh."

Vance pushed the custom wheelchair into the room. Burleigh wore a tailored black velvet suit. A cashmere blanket covered his legs. His skin was pale, but the energy radiating from him sucked the oxygen out of the room.

Grossman snatched his hand back from Francisqui's leg as if he had been burned. Every man on Wall Street feared Burleigh Livingston.

Franklin scrambled out of his chair. He forced a sickeningly sweet smile. "Burleigh! What an unexpected honor."

Burleigh ignored him. He didn't look at Franklin. He didn't look at Kaleigh.

His dark eyes locked onto Francisqui. He saw the wine stain. He saw Grossman's sweaty face.

"Am I interrupting a transaction, Owen?" Burleigh's voice was smooth, but it carried a lethal edge.

Francisqui felt a shiver run down her spine. She stared back at him, her face a mask of ice.

Burleigh turned his head toward Franklin. "I hear the Owen Group is bleeding cash. Selling your bastard daughter to plug the holes?"

Franklin wiped sweat from his forehead. "Burleigh, please, this is a family dinner-"

"How much is Grossman paying?" Burleigh asked. He didn't wait for an answer.

Burleigh reached into his jacket. He pulled out a solid metal Centurion Black Card. He tossed it onto the center of the dining table. It landed with a heavy thud.

"I'll double it," Burleigh said. "She's mine tonight."

Kaleigh gasped, her face turning purple with jealousy.

Francisqui's heart hammered against her ribs. This was her opening. She walked to the table. She picked up the Black Card. The metal was cold against her skin.

She walked over to Burleigh's wheelchair. She leaned down. Her lips hovered an inch from his ear.

She opened her mouth. Her throat tightened, the familiar suffocating paralysis clamping down like a vice. She dug her fingernails into her palms, using the sharp, grounding pain to fight the psychological block. Her jaw trembled. A single, agonizingly raspy syllable tore its way up her throat.

"Deal."

She couldn't manage another word. Her chest heaved as she pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. She held it up so only he could see the text: But I don't sleep with clients.

Burleigh's muscles went completely rigid. His pupils dilated. She wasn't entirely mute.

He tilted his head, his face inches from hers. "Fascinating," he murmured. "Let's see what you do instead."

Francisqui grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. She turned him around and pushed him out of the dining room, leaving her family in stunned, humiliating silence.

The door of the stretched Lincoln Town Car slammed shut. The soundproof glass separated them from the driver.

Francisqui sat on the leather bench opposite Burleigh. She still gripped the Black Card in her hand. Her knuckles were white.

Burleigh stared at her. He tapped his index finger against his knee. "If you are going to be my asset, you need to look the part. Take the card. Buy clothes that don't make you look like a cheap escort."

He pressed the intercom. "Bergdorf Goodman."

When the car pulled up to Fifth Avenue, Burleigh didn't move. "You have two hours," he said.

Francisqui opened the door and stepped onto the pavement. She didn't look back.

Inside the massive department store, Francisqui ignored the evening gowns. She walked straight to the high-end tailoring section. She bought three razor-sharp black suits, silk blouses, and wide-leg trousers that allowed her to run.

She was buying armor.

Next, she walked three blocks down to a specialty antique shop she knew from her auditing days.

She placed the Black Card on the glass counter. "I need the titanium walking cane," she typed on her phone. "The one with the weighted grip."

The shop owner smiled. He handed her a sleek, black cane. Hidden inside was a solid titanium core, designed to shatter bone. "A gift for an older relative?"

Francisqui typed. For an enemy.

While she waited for the transaction to clear, she pulled up a secure banking application. Using the Black Card's infinite limit, she wired a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer to a ghost-operative private investigator in Berlin, attaching a single encrypted file: her mother's autopsy report. The investigation was finally funded.

She walked back to Bergdorf to pick up her tailored suits. As she entered the shoe department, three women blocked her path.

Kaleigh stood in the center, flanked by her friends. She had tracked the location through the family's VIP shopper network.

"Maxing out a cripple's credit card?" Kaleigh sneered. "Is that how you afford these?"

Francisqui was trying on a pair of black stilettos with needle-sharp metal heels. She stood up. She was three inches taller than Kaleigh now.

Kaleigh stepped closer, pointing a finger at Francisqui's chest. "You are nothing but a-"

Francisqui lifted her right foot. She brought the metal stiletto heel down squarely onto Kaleigh's toes with all her body weight.

Kaleigh let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed to the floor, clutching her foot.

Francisqui pulled out her phone and hit the text-to-speech button.

"Excuse me," the robotic voice said. "The shoes don't fit."

A security guard rushed over. He saw the Black Card in Francisqui's hand. He immediately turned to Kaleigh. "Ma'am, you need to leave. You are disturbing a VIP client."

Francisqui walked out of the store, carrying her bags and the long, rectangular box containing the cane.

She got back into the Lincoln. She set the bags down.

Burleigh looked at the sharp suits and the long box. He raised an eyebrow. "Interesting taste. Are you going to war?"

Francisqui typed on her phone. I have to dress for the madness.

Burleigh let out a sharp laugh. He leaned forward, grabbing her chin with his large hand. His grip was bruising.

"Remember," Burleigh whispered, his breath warm against her lips. "This card comes with a price. Tomorrow night, I expect a return on my investment."

Francisqui stared into his dark eyes. She gripped the box with the titanium cane. She was ready to give him exactly what he deserved.