A.My grandma was critical after emergency surgery and my parents refused to come, but at her funeral, the pastor read her final note—and dad’s face changed when he heard his name...

The following afternoon, a sleek black SUV pulled into the driveway of 412 Elm Street.

A tall man in his late forties stepped out into the crisp autumn air. He wore a dark charcoal coat over a simple black sweater, his short dark hair silvering at the temples. His eyes were razor-sharp, sweeping over the perimeter of the house, the roofline, and the treeline before he even walked up the porch steps.

This was Gideon Cross.

I opened the front door before he reached the top step.

"Chloe Vance?" Gideon asked, his voice a deep, quiet baritone that carried a natural, effortless authority.

"Yes," I said. "Mr. Cross?"

"Gideon is fine," he said, offering a firm, warm handshake. "Your grandmother was a remarkable woman, Chloe. When she hired me five years ago to audit her home's physical security, she spent two hours making me homemade peach pie before she let me touch a single lock."

A faint, nostalgic smile touched my lips. "That sounds like Grandma."

Gideon walked into the foyer, his sharp eyes immediately registering the splintered doorframe where my father had broken in the night before.

"Your father was sloppy," Gideon noted, touching the damaged wood. "A panic-driven break-in. But Victor Vance’s chief enforcer—a man named Marcus Kane—is not sloppy. Kane was a former intelligence contractor in Eastern Europe. If he comes, he won't break down the front door with a crowbar. He will try to isolate you legally, financially, or physically."

Gideon pulled an electronic tablet from his leather bag and tapped the screen.

"I’ve already deployed two of my senior agents to monitor the perimeter of the estate twenty-four hours a day," Gideon explained. "We’ve installed encrypted thermal cameras along the treeline and reinforced the basement windows. But more importantly... we need to secure the black box."

I looked at him carefully. "You know about the box?"

"Ruth told me about it three years ago," Gideon revealed softly. "She told me that box was her insurance policy. She said if anything ever happened to her, that box was the shield that would keep you safe."

"Come upstairs," I said, turning toward the grand staircase.

We walked into the master bedroom. I pulled Jane Eyre from the shelf, activated the mechanism, and unlocked the wall safe. I pulled out the heavy black steel box and set it on the mahogany desk.

Gideon stepped closer, staring at the box with deep respect.

"In thirty minutes," Gideon said, "a secure armored courier will transfer this box to a vault at the Federal Reserve Bank in Philadelphia. It will be held under a court-ordered protective seal until the grand jury trial begins."

"And what about Victor?" I asked, looking out the window at the quiet street.

Gideon walked up beside me, his tall frame casting a protective shadow across the room.

"Victor Vance thinks he can intimidate a twenty-two-year-old girl because he thinks you're weak, Chloe," Gideon said quietly. "He thinks you're like your father. He doesn't realize you were raised by Ruth Vance."