SHE RIPPED THE NECKLACE OFF THE BRIDE’S NECK AND THREW HER INTO THE FOUNTAIN—RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE WEDDING GUESTS! But when the groom fought back to protect his bride, his mother screamed, “ASK HER WHERE SHE GOT THAT NECKLACE!” What he discovered next exposed a family secret buried for decades.

Ethan burst through the shattered front doors of the estate, drawing the licensed Glock 19 he kept in his glove compartment.

The grand foyer was dead silent, illuminated only by the rhythmic sweeps of emergency lightning through the arched windows. But the house was not empty.

Sitting calmly on the velvet settee in the center of the foyer, crossing her elegant, silk-clad legs, was a woman Ethan had never seen before. She appeared to be in her late twenties, radiating an aura of aristocratic arrogance that rivaled Eleanor Vance in her prime. Beside her stood two massive men in tactical combat gear, automatic rifles resting at the low ready.

"Lower the weapon, brother," the woman said in a purring, cultured European accent. "It would be dreadfully messy to spill blood on imported oak twice in one year."

Ethan kept his weapon trained dead center on her forehead. "Who the hell are you?"

She smiled, revealing pristine porcelain veneers, and held up a silver cigarette case. "Victoria Sterling Vance. Marcus’s legitimate daughter, born in Geneva during his 'posthumous' retirement. Which makes me your younger half-sister, darling. And the rightful executor of everything you see around you."

"Where is Claire?" Ethan snapped, his voice vibrating with lethal intent.

Victoria took a slow drag from a slender clove cigarette, exhaling thin gray plumes into the cavernous room. "Downstairs. Having a long-overdue reunion with our dear father. He was so eager to meet the little orphan girl who had the audacity to parade around Manhattan wearing his private encryption key around her scrawny neck."

"If he touches a single hair on her head, Victoria, I will empty this magazine into your chest and burn this house down with both of you inside it," Ethan vowed, his eyes dead and unblinking.

Victoria laughed, a crystalline, mocking sound that chilled the air. "Oh, the theatrical Vance passion! Eleanor really did raise a sentimental brute. Don't worry, Ethan. Father doesn't want to kill Claire. Not yet. He needs her alive to unlock the secondary biometric vault. Sarah Montgomery didn't just steal the ledger twenty-five years ago; she keyed the master access code to her daughter's unique biological pulse."

She stood up, smoothing the front of her tailored ivory blazer. The two armed operatives stepped forward, their laser sights painting bright red circles on Ethan’s chest.