Detective Sarah Torres came in first, with two uniformed Chicago officers behind her, and behind them a hospital administrator carrying a laptop, her face tight with the particular horror of a professional who has just understood what happened in one of her rooms.

Trent came up out of his chair, his hand rising halfway in old reflex before he caught himself.

“What is this?” he demanded, and then, reaching for the only weapon he had ever needed: “Do you have any idea who my father is?

My father is Gerald Beaumont.

We own half the real estate in this city.” Detective Torres did not slow down.

“I know exactly who your father is, Mr.