He was the respected Chicago philanthropist who had died in a tragic accident only three months ago.

“Arthur’s children,” Ryker muttered under his breath.

Before I could ask another question, Marco hurried back toward us, his phone in his hand.

“Mr. Steel, we have a problem,” Marco said, his voice tense.

“The gate agent is refusing to halt the flight without official federal clearance.”

“And there is someone else coming this way right now.”

I turned my head toward the main security checkpoint.

A woman in a dark navy suit was walking rapidly toward Gate Seventeen.

She held a gold badge in her left hand and a thick manila folder in her right.

Behind her, two armed airport police officers followed in lockstep.

Ryker stood tall, stepping directly between the children and the approaching group.

The woman stopped a few feet away, her eyes scanning the twins.

“I am Hannah Brooks from Child Protective Services,” she said, her voice commanding.

“I need everyone to step away from these children immediately.”

My phone suddenly buzzed in my coat pocket, the vibration hard against my ribs.