Cali moved toward the door, desperate to escape the suffocating proximity of the man she had once loved.

Hilliard sidestepped, blocking her path. He didn't do it aggressively, but with the casual arrogance of a man who was used to people stopping for him.

"Wait," he said. "My fiancée is upset. Apologize."

He didn't care about Charla's feelings. He just wanted to hear her voice again. There was something in the cadence, the rhythm... it scratched at a door in his mind he had welded shut five years ago.

Cali stiffened. She looked up at him through the eyeholes of the mask. Her green eyes-usually so warm-were shards of glass.

"I owe no apologies for the truth," she said.

Charla gasped behind him. "See? She's impossible!"

Hilliard ignored Charla completely. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook.

"I need a private broker for my estate," he said, his eyes boring into Cali's. "Most people here are sycophants. You have... fire."

He pulled a gold pen from his pocket, signed a check, and left the amount line blank.

He held it out to her.

"Name your price," he said. "Exclusively. I want you to manage my collection."

Cali looked at the check. It was freedom. It was power. It was a trap.

"I am not for sale, Mr. Holloway," she said.

She knocked his hand aside. As she brushed past him, her bare arm grazed his hand.

The brief contact was nothing, a flicker of warmth, but Hilliard's attention was snagged by something else. A movement. As she pulled away, her left hand came up defensively, and he saw her thumb instinctively rub the bare skin of her ring finger-a ghost of a gesture for a ring long gone. A gesture he'd seen Cailin make a thousand times when she was nervous.

He gasped. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Reflex.

"Who are you?" he whispered. The intensity in his voice was terrifying.

Cali panicked.

She lifted her foot, clad in a sharp Stiletto, and stomped down hard on the toe of his expensive Italian leather shoe.

"Argh!" Hilliard grunted, pain shooting up his leg. His grip loosened.

Cali yanked her arm free and sprinted out the door, down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.

Hilliard stood there, rubbing his wrist. He looked down at his scuffed shoe.

He smiled.

It was a dark, twisted smile. A smile that hadn't touched his face in half a decade.

"She stomped on me," he muttered. "Interesting."

"She assaulted you!" Charla shrieked. "Call the police! Have her arrested!"

Hilliard's smile vanished. He turned to Charla, his face cold again. "Be quiet, Charla. Go to the car."

He walked out, leaving her fuming.

He took the elevator down to the garage.

His driver and a cluster of security guards were standing around the Maybach.

Hilliard stopped. He stared at the hood.

DEADBEAT.

The pink letters were screaming at him.

"Deadbeat?" Hilliard whispered. The word felt like a slap.

"We're scrubbing the tapes, sir," the head of security said nervously. "But... we found this."

The guard held out a clear plastic evidence bag.

Inside was a small, black velvet hair ribbon.

Hilliard took the bag. He stared at the ribbon. It was tiny. Delicate.

"A child?" Hilliard asked. "A child did this?"

"Seems so, sir. The vents were compromised."

Hilliard looked at the graffiti again. A child calling him a deadbeat.

He pocketed the ribbon.

He pulled out his phone. "Gavin. Pull the security tapes for the entire building. I want to know who that broker is. And I want to know who that kid belongs to."

Cali burst into the secure playroom, slamming the door and locking it.

She ripped the mask off her face, gasping for air as if she had been underwater. Her face was flushed, her heart racing so fast it hurt.

"We leave. Now," she commanded.

Aron and Davy were already packing their gear into their backpacks. They looked guilty.

"Where is Elia?" Cali asked, scanning the room.

The boys exchanged a look.

"She... she dropped her ribbon," Aron mumbled. "She went back to get it."

Cali felt the blood drain from her face. "She's out there? With him?"

"She said she'd be right back!" Davy defended.

Cali grabbed her phone and dialed.

"Hey beautiful," a smooth, baritone voice answered. "Ready to say yes to the ring?"

"Cut the crap, Kegan," Cali snapped. "Hilliard is here. Elia is missing in the building."

The playful tone on the other end vanished instantly. "Shit."

She heard the furious sound of typing. "I'm scrubbing the building's feeds now," Kegan said. "Accessing the garage cams... damn it. Hilliard's team is already downloading the buffer."

"Can you stop them?"

"I can corrupt the files, but I need two minutes," Kegan warned. "If he sees her face on those tapes..."

"I have to go find her," Cali said.

"Put the mask back on, Cali," Kegan ordered. his voice hard. "Don't let him see Cailin. If he sees Cailin, the war starts today."

Cali shoved the mask back onto her face. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost poked her eye out.

"Stay here," she told the boys. "Do not move."

"I'll jam their radios," Aron said, opening his laptop again. His face was set in grim determination.

Cali ran back into the hallway. She moved through the shadows, avoiding the main corridors.

She reached the loading dock area. It was a cavernous space filled with crates and shipping containers.

"Comb the area!" Hilliard's voice echoed off the concrete walls. "The kid can't have gone far. Look for paint on their hands!"

He was hunting.

Cali crouched behind a forklift. She scanned the room.

There.

Behind a stack of wooden crates near the exit ramp. A small flash of velvet.

Elia was huddled there, frozen. She was watching Hilliard pace back and forth like a caged tiger.

Hilliard turned. He spotted the movement.

"Hey! You there!" Hilliard called out.

Cali lunged forward, but stopped. She was too far away. If she ran out now, she'd be tackled by his guards.

Elia stepped out from behind the crates. She lifted her chin. She didn't cry. She looked exactly like Hilliard did when he was facing a hostile board takeover.

Hilliard strode toward the child.

Cali watched in horror as father and daughter faced off for the first time.

Hilliard towered over the child. He expected a scared street urchin. He expected tears.

Instead, the little girl glared up at him with eyes that were startlingly green.

"Did you paint my car?" Hilliard asked sternly.

Elia crossed her arms over her chest. "Maybe. It was ugly anyway."

Hilliard blinked. He was taken aback. Most adults couldn't hold his gaze. This three-foot-tall menace was challenging him.

"Where are your parents?" he demanded.

"I don't have parents," Elia said, reciting the line Davy had taught her. "I hatched from an egg."

Hilliard felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He suppressed a smirk. "An egg. Right."

He crouched down so he was at eye level with her.

"Look, kid. You caused fifty thousand dollars in damage. This isn't a joke."

Elia pouted. Her lower lip stuck out. "You have money. Everyone says so. You're the Bad Daddy."

Hilliard froze. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.

"What did you call me?" he whispered.

Elia realized she had slipped. She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes widening.

Hilliard leaned closer. He studied her face. The shape of her nose... the stubborn set of her jaw... the arch of her eyebrows.

A headache began to throb in his temples. Why did she look so familiar? It was like looking at a ghost, or a reflection in a funhouse mirror.

Hidden behind the forklift, Cali was hyperventilating. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a tactical pen-a tranquilizer dart launcher Kegan had given her.

She aimed it at Hilliard's neck. If he touches her, I drop him.

Hilliard reached out. "Let me see your pockets. Do you have ID?"

He grabbed Elia's wrist.

Elia panicked. She opened her mouth and chomped down on the fleshy part of his hand.

"Ow!" Hilliard recoiled, yanking his hand back.

"Don't touch me!" Elia screamed.

"Sir!" Two security guards came running around the corner. "We found the breach point!"

Hilliard stood up, rubbing his hand. There were small teeth marks on his skin.

He looked at the girl. She was terrified now.

"Take this child to the car," Hilliard said, his voice cold. "We're going to the police station."

He was bluffing. He just wanted to scare her into revealing who her parents were so he could sue them.

But Elia didn't know that. "No police!" she wailed.

The guard reached for Elia.

"Let her go!"

Cali stepped out from the shadows. She held the pen like a weapon.

Hilliard turned. The masked woman again.

He looked from the woman to the child. The same green eyes. The same defiance.

"So," Hilliard said, a cruel smile touching his lips. "She's yours."

"Let the child go, Holloway," Cali warned. Her voice trembled, betraying her. "She's a minor."

Hilliard stepped between Cali and Elia.

"She's a criminal," Hilliard said. "And you're her accomplice. Get in the car. Both of you."