My father and brother poisoned my wine for an $8 million inheritance—so I switched glasses, and watched him collapse beside the Thanksgiving turkey fifteen minutes later.

I reached slowly into my jacket.

Reid’s gun shifted slightly, tracking my hand. “Slowly! Pull it out slowly!”

“It’s right here, Reid,” I said softly.

I pulled out the resin-encased thumb drive. The overhead track lights caught the plastic, glinting like an uncut diamond.

“This is August’s digital key,” I lied. “Everything is on here. The trust routing numbers. The Macau debt forgiveness agreements. The eight million dollars. It’s all yours. Just push her toward me and take it.”

Reid swallowed hard, greed warring with panic in his bloodshot eyes. He was Conrad’s son through and through: when presented with a choice between human life and cash, his hand always moved toward the money.

“Throw it on the floor,” Reid ordered, his voice cracking. “Slide it over!”

“No,” I said, closing my fist around the drive. “You let her go first. Then I hand it to you.”

“I’ll kill her, Julian!”

“Then you get nothing,” I countered, stepping directly into his line of fire, shielding Maya with my own torso. “Caldwell shoots you through the heart the second your finger pulls that trigger. You die broke, in my living room, while Mom boards a jet with Dad. You think Eleanor is waiting for you in Nassau? You think she cares about you?”

Reid flinched. The doubt hit him like a physical blow.

“She left you behind, Reid,” I pressed, twisting the knife. “She took Conrad. She left you to face the murder rap for Grandpa. You were always Dad’s attack dog, but Mom never loved anything she couldn't spend.”

“Shut up!” Reid screamed, losing control.

In that fraction of a second, when his rage overtook his caution, Maya acted.

She slammed the heel of her boot down hard onto Reid’s instep, and drove her elbow backward into his solar plexus.

Reid wheezed, his grip slipping.

I didn't wait.

I closed the distance in a blur. I caught Reid’s gun wrist, twisting it outward with all my weight. The revolver fired—*BANG*—the bullet tearing through the drywall three inches above Caldwell’s head.

Caldwell tackled Maya to the floor, covering her body.

I drove my knee into Reid’s groin, followed by a vicious left hook that snapped his head sideways. He dropped the revolver. It skittered across the floorboards. Reid lunged at me like a feral animal, clawing at my eyes, his fingers tearing into my cheek.

We crashed through the glass of the French balcony doors in an explosion of wood and crystal.

Cold November rain lashed our faces as we slammed against the cast-iron balcony railing, three stories above the concrete courtyard below.

Reid had his thumbs pressed into my windpipe, his face twisted in a murderous snarl. “I should have put the poison in your food three years ago!”

I couldn't breathe. Black spots danced across my vision.

I grabbed his thumbs, ripped them backward until the cartilage popped, and brought my forehead down against his nose with a sickening crunch.

Reid screamed, stumbling backward onto the slick, wet iron grating. He clutched his broken face, blood pouring through his fingers.

I stood over him, my chest heaving, the rain washing the blood down my collar.

I reached down, grabbed him by the lapels, and dragged his upper body over the edge of the railing.

He looked down into the dark, wet concrete thirty feet below. His screams died in his throat.

“Julian! Don't!” Caldwell shouted from the shattered doorway, his gun drawn, breathing heavily. “He’s done! Don't throw your life away for this piece of garbage!”

Reid was shaking uncontrollably, his eyes wide, looking up at me through a mask of blood and rain.

“Julian... please,” Reid begged, weeping like a child. “Please... we're brothers...”

“My brother died when you held Grandpa down,” I whispered.

I pulled him back over the rail and slammed him face-first onto the wet balcony floor.