The grand entrance hall of the Metropolitan Plaza was a dazzling monument to excess.

The security cottage at the far edge of the Sterling estate was quiet, lit only by the green pulse of heart monitors.

Old Marcus lay on a narrow bed, his frail body covered in bandages, his face bruised and swollen. He was a man in his late sixties, weathered by decades of cold winters on the streets, but his dark eyes were sharp and clear as Julian walked into the room.

Julian stood beside the bed, watching the old man closely. Anger and gratitude waged a violent war inside the billionaire's chest. This was a homeless man who had kept his stolen son in an alley, but it was also the man who had kept the boy alive.

"Who are you?" Marcus rasped, coughing weakly as he looked up at Julian’s impeccably tailored clothes.

"I am Julian Sterling," the billionaire replied slowly. "Leo is my son. His real name is Alexander."

Marcus froze. A long, shuddering sigh escaped the old man's chest, and he closed his eyes as if a crushing weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

"So... he found you," Marcus whispered, his voice dry as autumn leaves. "The girl in the chair... he found her."

"Why did you send him to the gala, Marcus?" Julian asked, stepping closer to the bed. "Why tonight?"

Marcus swallowed hard, looking toward the window. "Because they were coming for us. Eight years ago, I was working as a night janitor at St. Jude's Hospital. I was an addict back then... broke, sleeping in the basement. One night, I saw a doctor in a bloody coat carry a gym bag down to the incinerator room. He dropped it and ran when he heard a security guard."

Julian’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "The baby was in the bag?"

"He was barely breathing," Marcus confessed, tears forming in the corners of his old eyes. "I pulled him out. I knew if I took him to the police, the doctor would find out and kill us both. The hospital was owned by powerful people. So I took the baby and hid in the city. I raised him the best I could, Mr. Sterling. I fed him before I fed myself. I swear to God I loved that boy."

"I know you did," Julian said quietly, his voice softening slightly. "He was alive because of you. But who set the fire tonight?"

Marcus reached out, his frail, bruised hand grabbing Julian’s sleeve. "Three days ago, a man came down to the harbor. He had a picture of the boy. He offered me fifty thousand dollars to give Leo to him. He said his employer wanted to 'finish the business from eight years ago.' I refused. I hit him with a pipe and ran. I knew I didn't have much time left."

"Did you get a name?" Julian demanded, leaning down. "A face?"

"The man called his boss on a radio before I hit him," Marcus whispered, his energy fading fast. "He called him... The Chairman. He said... 'The Sterling inheritance belongs to Richard now.'"

Julian pulled back as if he had been struck by lightning.

Richard.

Richard Sterling was Julian’s younger half-brother—a ruthless, self-indulgent man who sat on the board of directors of Sterling Global Logistics. For eight years, Richard had been lobbying the board to declare Julian’s missing baby legally dead so that the child’s multi-billion-dollar trust fund would revert back to the core corporate holding company—which Richard secretly controlled.

If Alexander was alive, Richard stood to lose hundreds of millions of dollars, along with his seat on the board.

Julian stood tall, his eyes burning with an ancient, terrifying rage. The mystery of his son's disappearance was no longer a cold case. It was an act of war declared by his own blood.

Suddenly, the security radio on Vance's belt squawked with loud static.

"Vance! We have a security breach at the main gate!" a guard’s frantic voice shouted over the speaker. "Three black SUVs just rammed through the iron barriers! They're heavily armed! They're heading straight for the main house!"