UNTIL MY DYING CALL UNCOVERED A DEADLY CONSPIRACY THAT WOULD COST THEM EVERYTHING.

Julian threw his shoulder against the heavy steel exit door, but the electronic lock was engaged. He was trapped.

He spun around, his chest heaving, his silver hair plastered to his forehead by the freezing sleet. He leveled his pistol with trembling hands directly at my chest as I walked through the hangar threshold, the tire iron gripped firmly in my hand.

"Stay back, you little bitch!" Julian snarled, his voice echoing off the corrugated walls. "Stay back or I’ll finish what that useless idiot Ethan couldn't!"

I stopped ten feet from him.

The wind howled through the open hangar doors, whipping the scent of jet fuel and burning rubber around us. I felt no fear. The girl who had wept in room 412 while her husband laughed at her death didn't exist anymore.

"Ethan is in maximum security, Julian," I said, my voice completely steady. "Jennifer is in federal detention. And Diane’s beloved mink coats are currently keeping homeless women warm on Clark Street."

Julian let out a bitter, manic bark of laughter. "You think you're clever, Claire? You think you solved a puzzle? Ethan was a pawn! His father was a pawn! Richard was weak—he couldn't handle the heat when your father kicked down his door! But I built that syndicate! I took forty million dollars out of this city, and you think a retired cop and a poisoned heiress are going to stop me?!"

"You didn't build anything, Julian," I said, taking another slow step toward him. "You hid in Zurich like a sewer rat for eight years. And when you came back, you were so desperate for cash you had to rely on a pathetic boy to poison his wife for insurance money."

Julian’s face flushed purple with rage. "I'll kill you right here! I'll take a private helicopter off the south pad before the police even know what happened!"

He tightened his finger on the trigger.

"Go ahead," I said, locking my eyes onto his. "Pull it."

He hesitated. A fraction of a second. Just enough time for a predator to realize he was looking at something he couldn't intimidate.

In that fraction of a second, the heavy steel roll-up door above his head rattled violently.

Marcus stepped through a side maintenance hatch behind Julian, his weapon already drawn. "Drop the piece, Sterling."

Julian gasped, swinging his weapon toward Marcus.

I didn't think. I swung the steel tire iron with every ounce of strength in my body, striking Julian’s gun arm with a sickening crack.

The pistol flew from his shattered wrist, clattering across the concrete floor.

Julian screamed in agony, collapsing to his knees, clutching his broken arm against his chest.

Before he could recover, my father walked through the rain, his trench coat soaked, his revolver lowered at his side. He stood over Julian, looking down at the man who had haunted his career for a decade.

"Hello, Julian," Dad said quietly.

Julian looked up through tears of pain, his face twisted in defeat. "Arthur... it was business. It was just business."

"No, Julian," Dad said, kicking the leather briefcase away from him. "Setting warehouse fires with innocent night watchmen inside was murder. Poisoning my daughter with rat poison was murder. And tonight... business is officially closed."