“We are going to fight this.”

“Celeste will destroy you,” Marcus warned.

“Let her try,” I said.

I hung up the phone.

I pressed down on the accelerator.

The car surged forward through the dark streets of Boston.

I turned onto the bridge, the city lights reflecting in the black water below.

The black sedan sped up behind me.

The driver was trying to pull up alongside my car.

I swerved to block him.

My tires screeched on the metal grating of the bridge.

The headlights of the other car blinded me in my side mirror.

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

I was not going to let them stop me.

Not now.

I reached the other side of the bridge and turned toward Marcus’s office building.

The tall glass tower stood dark against the night sky.

I parked in the loading zone and ran toward the entrance.

The rain soaked through my shirt instantly.

The security guard in the lobby looked up in surprise as I burst through the glass doors.

“Mr. Whitmore,” he said.

“I need the elevator to the penthouse,” I said, not slowing down.