ALLEN
The cold rim of the suppressor pressed against my temple was a stark reminder of how far Anastasia had fallen. The brilliant, calculated woman who had run my legal department was gone, replaced by a frantic shadow with a twitching finger.
You won't pull the trigger, Anastasia, I said, my voice low and steady despite the roar of blood in my ears. The police are twenty feet away. Even with a silencer, the body hit would bring them running. You'd never make it to the elevator.
I don't need the elevator, she hissed, her eyes darting to the vent in the utility closet. Elena has the whole floor wired. We have five minutes before the code blue is called on your father. If you're found in this room with a gun in your hand and him dead, the case is closed. The prodigal son kills the king to take the crown.
She shoved me toward the connecting door that led directly into the ICU suite.
The room was bathed in a ghostly blue light from the banks of monitors. My father, Doncan Cross, lay in the center of the bed. He looked diminished, his powerful frame swallowed by the white linens. His eyes were open—wide, glassed-over, and screaming with a silent, primal fury.
He can see you, Allen, Anastasia whispered, moving behind me so she was shielded from the hallway window. He can hear every word. But the Succinylcholine has turned his body into a tomb. He's watching his favorite son become his executioner.
I looked at my father. Our eyes met, and for the first time in my life, I didn't see a titan. I saw a man who had been outplayed by the very monsters he had trained.
I'm here to wake him up.
Celeste
The Soho vault was a masterpiece of cold, industrial safety, but it felt like a coffin. Sloane was pacing the length of the room, her encrypted phone chirping every thirty seconds with updates from her sources at the hospital.
He's in, Sloane said, her face grim. But the police have just locked down the VIP wing. There's a rumor of an intruder.
I stood up, Gabriel clutched in my arms. We have to go. Now.
Celeste, if you walk out that door, you're a target," Sloane warned, blocking the exit. Allen's plan depends on us staying hidden.
Allen's plan didn't account for Anastasia Thorne having a death wish, I countered. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the silver locket Elena had left. You said you have a contact in the Swiss firm that the Lawsons were paying? The one who managed the 'Blue Ivy' shell company?"
Sloane nodded slowly.
Because if Elena is working with my father, she's using that same company to funnel the Apex shares. If we can trigger a Suspicious Activity flag on that account right now, her legal proxy over Doncan will be frozen. She won't be able to make medical decisions for him.
Sloane's eyebrows shot up. A financial decapitation. While the doctors are distracted, we hit her bank. I like it. But I can't do it from here. I need a hardline connection to the Federal Reserve's node in Lower Manhattan.
Then let's go, I said, my voice cold with a resolve I didn't know I possessed. I'm tired of being the Secret. I want to be the reason they lose.
ALLEN
Sign it, Allen.
Anastasia dropped a tablet onto the hospital bed, right next to my father's paralyzed hand. It was a digital transfer of my remaining forty percent of voting shares.
If I sign that, you and Elena win everything, I said and my father still dies.
If you sign it, I'll let you walk out the back service entrance, Anastasia countered. You take the girl, you take the brat, and you disappear to some island where the Cross name means nothing. It's the only way any of you stay alive.
I looked at the tablet, then at the IV bag dripping the paralytic into my father's vein. I noticed the secondary line—the one Anastasia thought was a saline drip. It wasn't. It was a high-dose stimulant, meant to keep his heart racing so the 'attack' looked like a natural stroke.
I'll sign, I said, reaching for the stylus.
Anastasia's eyes lit up with greed. She stepped closer, the gun lowering just an inch as she focused on the screen.
In that split second, I didn't grab the pen. I grabbed the heavy glass carafe of water from the nightstand and smashed it against the side of the oxygen tank.
The hiss of escaping gas filled the room.
What are you—!
I lunged, my shoulder slamming into Anastasia's chest, sending her sprawling against the monitors. The EKG let out a long, piercing wail as the leads were ripped from my father's chest.
Security Anastasia screamed, scrambling for the gun.
I didn't go for her. I went for the IV lines. I ripped the paralytic out of my father's arm and jammed the emergency Crash Cart button above the bed.
Wake up, Dad, I hissed, leaning over him. Wake up and tell them who did this!
The door burst open. It wasn't the police.
It was Elena Moretti. She was holding a phone, her face pale as she looked at the shattered monitors. Allen, you fool. You've just signed your own death warrant.
But behind her, the hallway filled with a different sound. The sound of a dozen cell phones going off at once.
Sloane had done it. The Blue Ivy accounts were flagged.
Elena's phone chimed—a notification from her bank. Her face went from pale to ghostly white.
My access she whispered. It's gone.
I looked at my father. His hand, previously dead and still, suddenly twitched. His fingers curled, grabbing the bedsheet in a white-knuckled grip.
The Ice King was back. And he looked like he was ready to kill.