***

At five-thirty the next morning, the sky over Manhattan was a bruised, dark grey.

Rain was beginning to patter against the glass of the Sterling Tower.

We had left the boys with Margaret, who had arrived at the Midtown apartment at five, looking sharp and determined.

“I’ll take care of them, Emma,” Margaret had said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You go with Alexander.”

Now, we were riding the private elevator up to the 50th floor of the Sterling Tower.

The metal walls of the elevator were polished to a mirror shine.

Alexander wore a dark charcoal suit, his tie knotted tightly at his throat.

He looked every bit the billionaire tech mogul, but I could see the tension in his jaw.

“The board members are already arriving,” he said, checking his watch. “Margaret sent the emergency summons at midnight. They know it’s serious.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

The 50th floor was vast, with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the misty city.

A few security guards stood near the reception desk, bowing their heads as Alexander walked past.