Barron walked into the living room. His long legs closed the distance to the sofa in three strides. He stood over Delma, blocking the sunlight.

The guard captain stepped forward. He grabbed the rag in Jazmyne's mouth and yanked it out.

Jazmyne gasped for air. She glared up at Barron. "My father is the CEO of Adkins Enterprises! We have lawyers! We will destroy you!"

Barron reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out a white silk handkerchief. He wiped his hands slowly, as if the air around her disgusted him.

He let out a short, hollow laugh. "Adkins Enterprises. Cute. I am Barron Dale. CEO of the Dale Media Empire."

Jazmyne's jaw dropped. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets. The color vanished from her skin, leaving her looking like a corpse.

She knew that name. Everyone in the country knew that name. The Dale family controlled sixty percent of the media, news, and entertainment in the United States.

Delma shook her head frantically. She looked at the wheelchair. "No. No, that's impossible. She's a nobody. She's just a stray with amnesia!"

Evalyn spoke. Her voice was raspy, but it cut through the room like a blade of ice.

"I woke up years ago," Evalyn said. "I felt every needle. I heard every insult. I listened while you starved my daughter. I was trapped in my own skin, waiting for the day I could tear yours off."

Delma's whole body began to violently tremble. She threw herself off the sofa. She landed on her knees. She slammed her forehead against the hardwood floor.

"Please! It wasn't me!" Delma screamed. She pointed a shaking finger at Jazmyne. "It was her! She made me do it! She hated the kid!"

Jazmyne snarled. She threw her weight sideways. Her shoulder rammed into Delma's ribs. The two women collapsed onto the floor. They kicked and bit at each other like rabid animals, their zip-tied hands useless.

Johnie stood by the door. He rolled his eyes. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

Two guards walked into the room. They held thick leather leashes. At the ends of the leashes were two massive, retired military Belgian Malinois.

The dogs planted their feet. They bared their teeth. A deep, guttural growl vibrated from their chests. They stared directly at the two women on the floor.

Delma and Jazmyne froze. They screamed. Delma curled into a tight ball. A dark, wet stain spread across the front of her expensive pants.

Amari lay on the stretcher just outside the door. She watched the women cry. Her face was completely blank. She felt nothing for them.

Barron pulled his phone out. He hit a speed-dial number. It connected straight to his lead broker on Wall Street.

"Dump it all," Barron ordered. "Short-sell every share of Adkins Enterprises. I want their stock at zero before the market closes."

Jazmyne sobbed hysterically. "No! Please! My family has nothing to do with this!"

Barron ended the call. He tossed the phone onto the cracked glass coffee table.

He looked at the guard captain. "Hand them over to the FBI agents waiting at the perimeter. Make sure the warden at the federal penitentiary knows they require special attention."

The guards grabbed the women by their hair and collars. They dragged them backward out the door. Their shoes scraped against the floorboards.

The living room fell dead silent. Only the heavy breathing of the dogs remained.

Evalyn turned her head. She looked at Amari. The ice in her eyes melted into warmth.

She nodded at Finley. "Take her to the back. Let's get her cat."

Finley nodded. He grabbed the rails of the bed and pushed it toward the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard.

Finley pushed the heavy hospital bed down the overgrown stone path of the backyard.

The rubber wheels rolled over dead, brittle branches. The wood snapped with loud, sharp cracks that echoed in the quiet yard.

At the far end of the property sat a wooden shed. The roof sagged. The paint peeled off in large, gray strips.

The air around the shed smelled thick. It smelled of damp mold and rotting leaves.

Finley stopped the bed ten feet away. He narrowed his eyes. He scanned the dark shadows beneath the overgrown bushes.

Amari pushed herself up on her good elbow. She stared at the half-open door of the shed. She opened her mouth and made a soft, unique trilling sound with her tongue.

It was a gentle, intimate noise, a secret language only she and Ghost understood, completely impossible for anyone else to perfectly mimic.

Finley raised his eyebrows. He looked down at his niece, confused by the noise.

A shadow moved inside the shed.

A cat stepped out into the daylight. It was large and sleek. Its black fur absorbed the sunlight like velvet. It didn't walk like a stray. It moved with slow, deliberate steps. It looked like a king inspecting his ruined castle.

Ghost walked up to the bed. He coiled his back legs and leaped. He landed silently on the white hospital blanket.

He sat down. He lifted his head. His eyes locked onto Finley's face.

The cat had heterochromia. The left eye was a deep, glowing amber. The right eye was a piercing, icy blue.

Finley stared into those eyes. A sudden, sharp spike of pain hit the front of his skull. He winced.

The gaze didn't feel like an animal's. It felt heavy. It felt like a human soul was trapped inside the skull, staring out with pure, calculated hostility.

Finley's heart rate spiked. His instincts kicked in. He took a step back. His right hand dropped to his waist, his fingers brushing the handle of the tactical dagger clipped to his belt.

Ghost's lips curled back. A low, vibrating growl rumbled in his throat.

Amari reached out. Her small hands grabbed the thick black fur around Ghost's neck.

She pulled the cat against her chest. She buried her face in his back. "It's okay, Ghost. They're nice. They saved us."

The growl stopped instantly. The hostility vanished from the cat's posture. Ghost relaxed his muscles. He rubbed his head against Amari's chin.

He leaned forward. His rough pink tongue gently licked the edge of the white gauze taped to Amari's cheek.

Finley let out a long breath. He wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead.

He took a step forward. He reached his hand out to pet the top of the cat's head.

Ghost snapped his head to the side. He dodged the hand completely. His mismatched eyes glared at Finley, cold and warning.

Finley awkwardly pulled his hand back. He cleared his throat. He grabbed the rails of the bed and turned it around.

They rolled back across the grass and entered the living room. The rest of the family waited.

Andres looked at the black cat sitting on Amari's chest. He frowned, his medical mind calculating the infection risk, but he kept his mouth shut.

The guards formed a tight perimeter. They escorted the family out the front door.

The convoy of black SUVs roared to life. They pulled away from the curb, leaving the ruined house behind, and headed toward the private airstrip.

The Gulfstream G650's tires hit the tarmac of JFK International Airport with a smooth screech. The jet engines whined as they powered down.

Three black Rolls-Royce Phantoms idled near the runway.

The family transferred into the cars. The convoy drove out of the airport, merging onto the highway. They drove straight into the heart of Manhattan.

The cars pulled up to the curb of a towering glass skyscraper.

They entered a private elevator. The doors closed. The elevator shot up to the top floor.

The metal doors slid open, revealing a two-thousand-square-foot penthouse.

Aunt Constance stood in the foyer. She wore an immaculate Chanel suit. Her hands were clasped tightly together.

As Evalyn's wheelchair rolled out, Constance rushed forward. Tears spilled over her eyelashes. She wrapped her arms around Evalyn's neck, burying her face in Evalyn's shoulder.

Constance pulled back. She wiped her eyes. She walked over to the hospital bed. She looked down at Amari.

Constance smiled softly. She reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, glittering diamond hair clip. She gently pinned back a loose strand of Amari's hair. "Welcome home, little one."

Amari hugged Ghost tighter against her chest. She looked up at Evalyn, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

Evalyn nodded slowly. She gave Amari a reassuring smile.

Constance gestured to the medics. They pushed the bed through the massive living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering skyline of New York City.

They stopped at the end of a long hallway in front of double doors painted soft pink.

Constance pushed the doors open.

The room was massive. A canopy bed shaped like a carriage sat in the center. Racks of custom-made dresses lined the walls. Plush, thick rugs covered the floor.

Amari's jaw dropped. She stopped breathing. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

Ghost jumped off the bed. He landed on the Persian rug. He kneaded the expensive fabric with his claws, circled twice, and lay down.

Downstairs in the living room, Barron stood in front of an eighty-inch television screen.

The financial news network was broadcasting live. The ticker at the bottom read: ADKINS ENTERPRISES FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY UNDER THE BANKRUPTCY CODE.

The screen showed footage of Jazmyne. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. Two federal agents shoved her into the back of an unmarked car.

Barron's face showed zero emotion. He picked up the remote, turned off the TV, and took a slow sip of amber whiskey.

Upstairs, Amari lay in the softest bed she had ever felt. Her eyes were heavy. She drifted to sleep.

Moonlight spilled through the window. It cast a bright beam across the floor, illuminating Ghost.

Ghost lifted his head. His mismatched eyes stared into the empty air. A deeply human expression of longing and recognition flashed in his pupils.

He felt a pull. An invisible tether vibrating across thousands of miles.

At that exact second, deep in the snow-covered Alps of Europe, a massive stone castle stood in silence.

Inside a dark, cavernous room, a tall man stood in front of a wall of glowing monitors. A massive red alert flashed across the center display. It was the exact encrypted military frequency Evalyn had triggered at the hospital-a tripwire he had embedded in global surveillance networks five years ago, waiting for her ghost to finally make a sound.

The system had traced the origin and immediately locked onto the resulting extraction. The main screen was paused on a blurry satellite image. It showed the Dale family convoy pulling into the Manhattan skyscraper.

Demian Mullen raised his hand. His long, calloused fingers traced the blurry outline of the little girl on the glass screen.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

He turned his head toward the shadows of the room. His voice was deep, raspy, and filled with absolute authority.

"Prep the jet. We are going to New York."