THEY WERE FIRING HER ON CHRISTMAS EVE…

The threat hung in the air like poison.

Without saying another word, Marcello grabbed Johana’s hand and turned on his heel, marching out of the Grand Ballroom, ignoring the flashing cameras of the paparazzi and the calls of board members.

"Call the penthouse!" Marcello barked to his head of security, Viktor, as they burst through the glass doors of the Plaza into the freezing rain.

Johana pulled out her phone, her hands trembling violently, and dialed Carmen’s direct line.

The phone rang four times. Five times. Six times.

No answer.

"She's not answering!" Johana cried out, terror clutching her throat.

They leapt into the back of the armored Maybach. Viktor slammed his foot on the accelerator, sending the heavy vehicle roaring through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, running red lights with its emergency strobes flashing.

Fifteen excruciating minutes later, the Maybach screeched to a halt in the underground garage of the penthouse building.

The private elevator keycard was swiped, and the doors opened on the top floor.

The penthouse was pitch black. The main power grid for the top three floors had been cut.

"Stay behind me," Viktor instructed, drawing his suppressed sidearm and clicking on a tactical flashlight.

Marcello and Johana followed Viktor through the dark hallway. The air smelled faintly of burnt copper from a short-circuited electrical panel.

In the kitchen, they found Carmen tied to a wooden chair, a gag over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. Johana immediately rushed forward, pulling off the gag and untying the ropes.

"Miss Johana! Mr. Marcello!" Carmen sobbed, gasping for air. "Two men... they came through the service elevator! They cut the power! They went into the master wing!"

Marcello didn't wait. He tore down the dark hallway toward María’s bedroom, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"María!" he roared, throwing open her bedroom door.

The room was empty. The bedsheets were pulled back, and her stuffed teddy bear lay on the floor near the window.

"No, no, no!" Johana gasped, dropping to her knees and picking up the teddy bear. "Where is she?!"

A floorboard creaked in the adjacent playroom.

Viktor raised his weapon, stepping silently toward the doorway, with Marcello right behind him. They rounded the corner, the tactical flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

Standing near the center of the playroom was a tall man dressed in dark security fatigues, holding a black duffel bag. But he wasn't holding María.

Sitting high up inside a tiny, hidden reading nook built into the hollow wall—a secret space Johana and María had discovered together weeks ago while playing hide-and-seek—was María.

She had crawled into the tiny space, pulled the wooden access panel shut, and was holding her breath. In her hand, pressed tightly against her chest, was the carved wooden key from her music box.

When the flashlights hit the intruder, he panicked, dropping the duffel bag and lunging toward the window leading to the fire escape. Viktor tackled him to the floor with a heavy crash, disarming him and pinning him against the floorboards within seconds.

Marcello ignored the intruder entirely. He rushed over to the tiny wall panel and pulled it open.

"María!" Marcello cried, his voice breaking as he reached into the dark nook.

The little girl looked out. She saw her father. She saw Johana standing right behind him, tears streaming down her face.

María didn't cry. She didn't freeze.

She reached her small arms out, throwing herself into her father’s chest.

"Daddy!" she cried out clearly, her voice echoing through the dark room. "Daddy, I hid! I hid like Johana taught me!"

Marcello held his daughter with every ounce of strength he possessed, weeping openly as he pressed his face into her neck. "You were so brave, my baby. You were so brave."

Johana fell to her knees beside them, wrapping her arms around both father and daughter.

María pulled one hand free from her father’s neck and reached out, clutching Johana’s dress tightly.