THE SCRATCHED RING: A CEO'S RECKONING

The two black buttons sat on the glass table like a death sentence. I looked down at Ben’s worn coat. The threads where his buttons had been ripped off were freshly frayed.

“Your men touched this child?” I asked, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. I stepped entirely in front of Ben, shielding him from my brother’s sight.

Charles sighed, walking slowly toward the wet bar as if he owned the room. “Don't be dramatic, Evelyn. They simply tried to escort the boy to a safe location. Unfortunately, he’s as slippery as his father. Scurried right down a subway grate.”

Answer one, open two. Charles had been tracking Ben. That’s why Ben was so desperate to get the money for Daniel’s medicine today—he knew they were being hunted. But if Charles knew about Ben, how long had he known Daniel was at that specific hospital?

“You’re poisoning him,” I realized, the horror washing over me in waves. “Daniel’s heart condition… it’s not natural. Your medical supply company controls the contracts for that hospital. You have doctors on your payroll.”

Charles poured himself a glass of scotch, not bothering to deny it. “A sudden heart attack is so much cleaner than a bullet, Evie. Less paperwork. The Zurich account Eleanor so foolishly opened tipped me off three months ago. I’ve simply been letting nature take a slightly accelerated course.”

He took a sip of his drink and turned to face us.

“But the boy complicates things,” Charles continued, his eyes narrowing. “Daniel stole a failsafe twenty-five years ago. A safety deposit key. I want it back. Hand over the boy, Evelyn. I’ll ask him nicely where his father hid it, and you can go back to running my company in blissful ignorance.”

“It’s my company,” I spat. “Dad left it to me and Daniel.”

“Dad was a senile old fool who wanted to hand a billion-dollar empire to a man who built birdhouses for a living!” Charles roared, suddenly slamming his glass onto the marble counter. The glass shattered, sending amber liquid across the floor.

Charles pulled a suppressed handgun from his suit jacket and pointed it directly at my chest.

“Give me the boy, Evie. I won't ask again.”

I felt Ben grip the back of my blazer. He was terrified, but he didn't cry. He had lived his entire life in the shadow of this monster.

“You’ll have to shoot me, Charles,” I said, lifting my chin.

“Gladly,” he sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“No!”

My mother, who had spent twenty-five years cowering behind her wealth and her lies, suddenly lunged across the coffee table. She didn't go for the gun; she grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the end table and swung it wildly at Charles’s head.

Charles cursed, stepping back. The lamp caught him hard on the shoulder, throwing off his aim. The gun fired with a muffled phut, the bullet shattering the massive mirrored wall behind us.

“Run, Evelyn!” Eleanor screamed, throwing herself at Charles’s legs.

“Come on!” I yelled, grabbing Ben’s hand. We didn't go for the main elevator. We sprinted through the gourmet kitchen toward the heavy steel fire door that led to the service stairs.

I pushed the heavy door open, shoving Ben through just as Charles threw my mother off him with a brutal kick.

“I’ll kill you both!” Charles screamed from the living room.

I slammed the heavy steel door shut and dragged a rolling kitchen cart in front of it to wedge the handle.

“Down the stairs, Ben! Fast!”

We raced down twelve flights of concrete stairs, my expensive heels echoing loudly in the sterile stairwell. My lungs burned, but I didn't stop until we reached the underground parking garage.

We burst through the doors, hiding behind a concrete pillar just as two of Charles’s men in black suits stepped out of an SUV near my town car. They had intercepted my driver.

We were trapped.

Ben tugged on my hand. He reached into the deep pocket of his torn coat and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden bird. It was a sparrow, beautiful and smooth, worn from years of being held.

“Daddy made this for me when I was little,” Ben whispered, his breath pluming in the cold garage air. “He said if Charles ever found us, I had to give it to you. He said you’d know what to do.”

I took the wooden bird. It was incredibly light. Too light.

I looked at the seam along the sparrow’s back. It wasn't a solid carving.

“He said to break it,” Ben urged.

I placed the wooden bird on the concrete floor and brought the heel of my shoe down on it as hard as I could. The wood splintered with a sharp crack.

Sitting in the hollow center of the carved bird was a small, rusted brass key. Stamped on the metal were three numbers: 714.

A locker key. The failsafe Charles was looking for.