A barefoot little girl held up her handmade doll and asked, “Sir, would you buy her? My mommy hasn’t had food in three days.”

Arthur Vance sprinted down the concrete stairs of the emergency exit shaft, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. The polished leather of his tuxedo shoes slapped against the cold stairs as he descended ten flights to the subterranean VIP parking level.

His empire was collapsing around him in real-time. By tomorrow morning, his assets would be frozen by federal grand juries, his stock would be worthless, and his name would be synonymous with one of the greatest corporate crimes in American history.

He reached the heavy metal door leading to the lower garage, threw his weight against the push bar, and burst out onto the dimly lit concrete floor.

parked in his reserved bay was his armored Mercedes Maybach. If he could reach the vehicle, he could drive to his private airfield in New Bedford and board his private jet before the federal border holds were activated.

He fumbled in his pocket for the electronic key fob, his hands shaking so violently he dropped it onto the damp pavement.

As he bent down to scoop it up, a shadow fell over him.

Vance froze.

Standing between him and his vehicle was Marcus Bennett.

Marcus wasn't wearing a suit anymore. He wore a dark jacket, his face grim, his hands resting easily in his pockets. Behind him stood Frank Miller, holding a tactical flashlight aimed directly at Vance’s chest.

“Running away so soon, Arthur?” Marcus asked quietly. “The party was just getting started.”

Vance slowly straightened up, his face twisted in a mixture of fear and pure hatred. “You think you’ve won, Bennett? You think a few leaked documents are going to hold up in court? My legal team will tie this up in motions for a decade! You’ve destroyed your own project! Apex Tower is finished! You’re ruined too!”

“I don't care about the building, Arthur,” Marcus said, stepping forward. “I never did. I care about the fact that you left a child to starve on a freezing sidewalk so you could buy another luxury yacht.”

Vance let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Lily? You did all this for that ungrateful brat? She’s a child! She doesn't understand how the real world works! Power requires sacrifice, Bennett! Elena didn't have the stomach for it, and neither do you!”

“She had the stomach to survive you,” Marcus said softly.

The sound of multiple sirens echoed down the concrete access ramps leading into the garage. Red and blue emergency lights flashed across the walls as half a dozen Boston Police cruisers and federal vehicles blocked off every exit.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the ramp. A dozen state troopers and federal agents spilled into the garage, their weapons drawn and focused entirely on Arthur Vance.

“Arthur Vance!” a federal agent shouted through a bullhorn. “Drop to your knees and place your hands behind your head! We have a warrant for your arrest on charges of corporate fraud, endangerment, grand larceny, and obstruction of justice!”

Vance looked at the armed agents, then at the police cars, and finally back at Marcus. The arrogant billionaire looked tiny, frail, and broken under the flashing red lights.

Slowly, pitifully, Arthur Vance sank to his knees on the cold, dirty concrete of his own compromised garage. He placed his hands behind his head as two state troopers rushed forward and slammed the steel handcuffs around his wrists.

As they hauled Vance away, the disgraced mogul turned his head toward Marcus.

“Where is she?” Vance spat, his voice cracking. “Where is my daughter?”