She looked at it for less than a second. That was all he needed — he saw the recognition in her eyes.

“You don’t understand how powerful families survive, Julian,” Beatrice said.

“I’m starting to understand how they rot,” he answered softly.

That night, Alexander checked into a quiet hotel off Fifth Avenue and ignored twenty-three missed calls from Beatrice. Marcus arrived an hour later with a red folder and a grave face.

“I found something in the emergency records.”

Alexander stood. “Tell me.”