I walked into the bank barefoot and soaked from the rain, expecting another rejection... but one account balance made the manager run from his office in shock.

The federal detention center smelled of industrial bleach, old coffee, and cold iron.

I sat on a metal chair behind a thick pane of plexiglass in the visitor room. I was dressed in a tailored cream suit, my long hair styled in dark, elegant waves, a diamond watch resting on my wrist.

The heavy steel door across from me unlocked with a loud, mechanical clank.

Two guards escorted Brandon into the room.

He looked horrifying. His gray wool coat was gone, replaced by an oversized orange jumpsuit. His hair was messy, his face pale and unwashed, dark purple bags hanging under his bruised eyes. His hands were cuffed to a chain around his waist.

When he saw me sitting behind the glass, looking like a million dollars, his face twisted in a mixture of rage, shame, and sheer terror.

He sat down heavily on the stool, picking up the yellow plastic phone receiver with trembling, cuffed hands.

I picked up my receiver, holding it to my ear.

"Harper..." Brandon wept, his voice raspy through the crackling speaker. "Harper, please! You have to help me! You have to get me out of here!"

"Why should I, Brandon?" I asked softly, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You left me to freeze under a bridge. You let your friends laugh at me when I begged for my clothes back."

"I was forced to do it!" Brandon cried out, leaning against the glass, leaving a greasy smudge. "Victoria... Victoria Sterling was going to kill me! She threatened to send men to break my legs if I didn't get you to sign those trust papers!"

"You sold me out for gambling debts, Brandon," I said coldly. "Don't pretend you were protecting anyone."

"She promised me ten million dollars!" Brandon blubbered, dropping all pretense of innocence. "Ten million! We could have been rich, Harper! We could have lived in Europe! But you were so stubborn! You wouldn't sign the power of attorney! You kept saying you wanted to build your own art career!"

I stared at him, feeling a sudden, strange sense of pity. Not because he was suffering, but because I had once loved this pathetic, hollow shell of a man. I had believed his sweet words, his fake promises, his plastic smiles.

"Victoria called me an hour ago, Brandon," I informed him.

Brandon froze, his weeping stopping instantly. "What... what did she say?"

"She offered me a deal," I said, leaning closer to the glass. "She told me that if I give her the Sterling ledger, she will let me keep the eighty-seven million. And do you know what she said about you?"

Brandon swallowed hard, his eyes wide with terror. "What?"

"She said you were a crude, useless little parasite," I said, every word dripping like venom. "She said she was going to have her associates in the state prison system make sure you never survive your first month."

Brandon went dead pale. He slammed his forehead against the plexiglass, weeping hysterically. "No... no, no, no! Harper, please! Save me! I'll testify against her! I'll tell the FBI everything! I have her voice recordings on my cloud drive!"

I paused. My eyes narrowed sharp as needles. "Voice recordings?"

"Yes!" Brandon yelled into the receiver. "I recorded every call she made to me! I kept them as insurance in case she tried to double-cross me! The passwords are in my private safe deposit box at the downtown bank!"

I looked at the silver pen in my jacket pocket—the pen I had used to sign the eighty-seven-million-dollar trust this morning.

"What's the box number, Brandon?" I asked smoothly.

"If I tell you," Brandon bargained frantically, "you have to pay my bail! You have to get me out of here tonight!"

I smiled—a slow, terrifying, beautiful smile.

"Tell me the box number, Brandon, and I will make sure Victoria Sterling never touches you again."

"Box 404," Brandon gasped, spilling the truth like water from a broken dam. "The key is hidden in the lining of my leather wallet... the wallet the police took when they processed my clothes!"

I set the phone receiver down on the cradle.

I stood up, smoothing the front of my cream jacket.