Before sunrise, laughter stopped me in the hallway of my Manhattan penthouse because my five-year-old son had not laughed in four months.

The Vance ancestral estate in Westchester County was an imposing granite mansion surrounded by two hundred acres of dense pine forest and heavy iron gates.

At seven o'clock, my black town car pulled through the security checkpoint. Armed guards in tailored suits lined the gravel driveway, their earpieces glowing faint blue in the twilight.

In the backseat, Elizabeth was dressed in an elegant navy velvet gown—a complete transformation from her plain housekeeper uniform. She was acting as my personal guest for the evening, a cover we manufactured to get her past the front gate.

Alex sat between us, wearing a sharp grey suit. He held my hand tightly, his small thumb rubbing the fabric of my sleeve.

"Remember the plan," I whispered to Elizabeth as the driver opened our door. "During Arthur’s opening toast, the main house security feed cycles every eight minutes. You'll have six minutes to drop down to the basement service passage using the brass key."

"I know," Elizabeth said, her eyes calm despite the danger. "Just keep Marcus Kane in the main dining hall. If he leaves the room, the plan falls apart."

We stepped out onto the grand stone portico.

Arthur Vance stood at the top of the marble steps, wearing a tux, holding a crystal glass of scotch. Beside him stood Marcus Kane, his hands folded neatly behind his back, a heavy silver signet ring gleaming on his right index finger under the exterior floodlights.

"Andrew!" Arthur called out, throwing his arms open as we ascended the stairs. "Welcome, welcome!"

He leaned down to pat Alex on the head, but Alex instantly pulled back, burying his face into the side of my leg.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow crossing his face before his diplomatic smile returned. He looked at Elizabeth.

"And who is this lovely lady?" Arthur asked, his tone dripping with polite curiosity.

"This is Dr. Elizabeth Vance," I introduced her clearly, watching Marcus Kane’s face like a hawk. "She's Alex’s new private specialist. She's been helping him with his speech therapy."

I saw it.

A microscopic twitch in Marcus Kane’s jaw. His hand moved half an inch closer to his left lapel where his concealed firearm sat.

Kane recognized her.

"Dr. Vance," Arthur said slowly, his smile freezing. "A relative of ours, perhaps?"