(Ruins of the Sterling Estate, Upstate New York)
The morning mist reeked of scorched timber.
Alia's stepped through broken glass into what used to be the study. Davies' men were dousing the place in gasoline. She kicked aside a half-charred copy of The Wealth of Nations—nothing beneath the cover.
Victor had lied.
"Looking for this?"
From the shadows, Carson Thorne held up a yellowed parchment. Firelight glinted off the Sterling family crest stamped in wax across the deed.
Behind him, Horizon Enterprises' security team had surrounded Davies' operatives.
"You're trespassing, Mr. Thorne!" one of the hired guns barked, hand hovering over his holster.
Carson smiled coolly.
"According to the Historic Property Protection Act, arson on a deeded estate carries a ten-year sentence." He flicked the edge of the paper.
"And this little envelope also includes a receipt—Davies bribing the mayor back in '98."
Suddenly, Alia's earpiece crackled—Victor's voice, raw and urgent:
"Abort! Davies sent a cleaner—"
The crack of a sniper rifle shattered the air.
Carson yanked Alia's into the ruins of the old fireplace.
Warm blood soaked through his Armani jacket.
Her hand found the slick, ragged bullet wound.