THE BILLIONAIRE’S DEAD SON AND THE WAITRESS WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

The damp chill of the prohibition tunnel seeped into my bones, but the sudden silence among the Vance family was colder.

"Richard’s son," Arthur repeated, his voice hollow. He stared at the silver medical bracelet in his palm as if it were a venomous snake. "David. He was just a boy."

"Thirty years ago," Owen said quietly, his flashlight beam trained on the brick floor. "When Vance Energy was just starting. You bought out that small drilling operation in West Texas. The one Richard Hale’s family owned."

Arthur leaned against the wall, clutching his chest. "It was a standard acquisition. The rig was failing. I offered them a lifeline."

"You offered them pennies on the dollar, Dad," Caroline said, her voice trembling but hard. "I read the old files. You forced them into bankruptcy, then bought the assets at auction. The next week, the rig blew. Richard’s teenage son was working the night shift because they couldn't afford to pay the crew."

"It was an accident," Arthur pleaded, looking between his children. "The investigation cleared us."

"The investigation you paid for," I said softly.

Arthur looked at me, a profound, crushing guilt finally breaking his billionaire facade. "I didn't know the boy was on the rig. I swear to God. I tried to make it right. I paid for Richard's medical school. I brought him into my home. I made him family."

"You made him a pet," Owen corrected bitterly. "And he spent thirty years smiling at your dinner table while planning to take everything you love."

Preston groaned loudly from the floor, clutching his bleeding thigh. "Can we stop the history lesson? We're going to die down here! The tunnel leads to the old river drainage, but it's barred shut from the outside."

"No, it isn't," I said.

Everyone turned to look at me.

"My father didn't just leave me the account files," I explained, stepping away from the iron door. "He left me a map of this building. He knew Hale was using this steakhouse as a front for his meetings."

I walked a few paces down the dark tunnel and felt along the brick wall. My fingers found a loose, protruding stone. I pushed it hard. A section of the wall groaned, sliding backward to reveal a hidden, secondary passageway.

"My father was a paranoid accountant," I said. "He always mapped the exits."

Owen looked at me with a mixture of awe and deep sorrow. "Your father was a good man, Clara. When Hale threw me in that basement in Mexico five years ago, your father was the one who figured it out. He came looking for me."

Tears pricked my eyes. "He found you?"

"He tried to get me out," Owen said, his voice breaking. "Hale's men caught us. They ran his car off the cliff to make it look like an accident. He died trying to save a billionaire's son."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, gripping my gun tighter. "Then let's make sure he didn't die for nothing. Move."

We funneled into the secondary tunnel. It was narrower, smelling of old earth and copper.

As we walked, Arthur's breathing became shallow and ragged. He stumbled, falling heavily against Caroline.

"Daddy!" she cried, catching his weight.

I rushed back. Arthur's skin was pale, covered in a cold sweat. He was clutching his chest, his lips turning a faint shade of blue.

"The pacemaker," Owen panicked, checking his father's pulse. "Hale must have triggered the kill switch from his phone."

"No," Arthur gasped, shaking his head. "Not the pacemaker."

He looked up at me, his eyes wide with sudden realization.

"The wine," Arthur choked out. "Clara, you knocked the wine out of my hand."

"I did," I said. "You didn't drink any of it."

"But I took a pill," Arthur whispered, his eyes rolling back. "Right before you came over. Richard gave me my evening heart medication with a glass of water."

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.

The monkshood wasn't in the $12,000 wine. The tiny amber bottle I saw the server drop into his pocket wasn't poison—it was a decoy.

Hale had poisoned Arthur's daily medication.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut, and his body went entirely limp in Caroline’s arms.

"He's dying," Caroline screamed. "Clara, do something!"