THE MASTER KEY OF CALLOWAY HOUSE

The knocking rattled the glass panes of the front window.

I stood up slowly, smoothing down my gray coat, and walked down the dimly lit hallway. When I swung the heavy door open, I didn't find a police officer or an angry tenant.

Standing on my porch, breathing heavily in a tailored Brioni suit that was soaked with sweat, was Marcus Vance—the senior managing director of Calloway House Holdings and one of Ethan’s primary corporate mentors.

Marcus looked down at me, his eyes wide, his usual arrogant smirk completely replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror.

"Frank," Marcus gasped, his hands trembling as he gripped the doorframe. "Thank God you're home. We need you at the penthouse. Right now."

I leaned against the doorjamb, crossing my arms. "Marcus. I thought I didn't belong at your tables. Weren't security guards supposed to throw me out?"

"That was a mistake!" Marcus waved his hands frantically, glancing back over his shoulder toward the empty street as if assassins were lurking in the shadows. "Ethan was out of line. We all know it. But please... the board is up there. The investors are up there. And everything is falling apart."

"What's falling apart?" I asked, my voice flat. "Ethan just got promoted. He’s a genius. Isn't that what you told everyone over the Bordeaux?"

"He tried to execute a title transfer using a physical master key," Marcus blurted out, panic making his voice crack. "C.H. 001. He claimed he bought the penthouse rights directly from a silent partner, but when he plugged the key into the sub-basement terminal to finalize the $72 million acquisition of the building's equity... the system didn't just reject it."

Marcus swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"The system locked down the entire corporate grid. Every bank account, every tenant lease, every asset tied to Calloway House... it all routed straight to a primary holding entity that hasn't been active in thirty years."

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "And what is the name of that holding entity?"

Marcus whispered the name like it was a curse word.

"Calloway Legacy Holdings. The sole trustee is listed as... Frank Calloway."

I felt a ghost of a smile touch the corners of my mouth. "Imagine that. A maintenance worker owning a Manhattan skyscraper. Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it?"

"Frank, stop playing games!" Marcus grabbed my sleeve, his fingers digging into the fabric. "Ethan is losing his mind! The investors are threatening to pull out every dollar by midnight! If you don't come up there and authorize the override, Ethan's career—and my firm—is completely destroyed."

"Your firm," I said, gently pulling my sleeve from his grip. "And Ethan’s career. But what about my daughter, Marcus?"

Marcus blinked, confused. "Lily? What does she have to do with this?"

"For months, your golden boy has been whispering in her ear, telling her that her father is a pathetic old man living on charity, teaching her to look down on the very hands that built the roof over her head," I said, stepping closer to him, the warmth draining entirely from my eyes. "He didn't just humiliate me tonight, Marcus. He humiliated my daughter by forcing her to choose between her father and her social standing."

Marcus backed down the porch steps, his face pale as paper. "Name your terms, Frank. Do you want a public apology? Do you want Ethan fired?"

Before I could answer, a sleek black town car pulled up to the curb with screeching brakes.