“Your uncle, you, and the man who programmed the firewall,” Elias said, looking briefly at me before dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Arthur Whitmore,” I said, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

My father had sold me to Roman to settle his debts, yet he had kept the keys to the kingdom.

“He didn’t just run,” Roman said, his voice a low growl as Dr. Patel finished the last stitch and bandaged his arm. “He left the door open for my rivals to finish us both.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked, looking between the two men. “He knew I was here.”

“Your father only cares about the ledger, Lena,” Roman said, pulling his sleeve down over the fresh white bandage.

I looked down at my hands, my mind racing through the fragments of my childhood.

I remembered the last night I saw my father, his face pale, his hands shaking as he packed a single suitcase.

He had handed me a small, heavy object wrapped in a faded blue velvet cloth.