(Davies Underground Garage)
The screech of tires tore through the dark.
Alia's was slammed against the side of a Cadillac Escalade, the cold barrel of a Glock pressed into her ribs.
Victor Kane growled in her ear,
"Faked credentials. Hacked the environmental group. Got cozy with Thorne..."
He yanked open her collar, revealing the burn scar beneath her collarbone.
"Welcome home, Miss Sterling."
Alia's drove her knee into his gut, spun, and whipped a steel wire from her dress hem around his throat.
"What did Marta say before she died?"
Victor choked—and laughed.
"She said, 'The little princess is still alive...'"
Suddenly, he pried open her palm and shoved a microchip into it.
"Davies is sending you to destroy the deed to the old Sterling estate tomorrow. The real contract's hidden in the study—tucked inside The Wealth of Nations."
In the blood-red glow of the taillights, Victor wiped the thin cut across his neck.
"Pleasure doing business, Hummingbird."
A flicker of static danced across the garage monitors—then Davies' face emerged.
"Reed. Burn that haunted house. 9 A.M. sharp."
Alia's clenched the chip in her fist.
In the rearview mirror, the phantom of the Sterling manor burned through the rain.