CHAPTER 2 — THE WOMAN IN THE RED DRESS

Blood spread beneath Mara’s shoulder.

“Lock every exit!” one of the officers shouted.

The golden ballroom doors slammed shut.

Guests panicked.

Senators demanded protection.

Billionaires pushed past one another.

People who controlled entire industries suddenly behaved like frightened children.

Julian dropped beside Mara.

The bullet had struck high in her shoulder. She was conscious, but barely.

“Who shot you?” he asked.

Mara’s eyes moved toward the balcony above the ballroom.

“Red dress,” she whispered.

Julian looked up.

A woman in a dark red gown disappeared behind a velvet curtain.

He stood and ran.

“Stop him!” Sebastian shouted. “He’s escaping!”

Two officers moved to block Julian, but Mara forced out a command.

“Let him go.”

Julian raced up the marble staircase.

At the top, he entered a private corridor used by the Astor Syndicate’s board members. The music and shouting below faded behind thick oak doors.

He saw the edge of a red dress vanish around a corner.

Julian followed.

The woman entered the abandoned portrait gallery.

When Julian stepped inside, the door locked behind him.

She stood beneath a painting of his late father, Conrad Ashford.

Then she turned.

Julian stopped breathing.

“Evelyn?”

Evelyn Cross had once been Julian’s fiancée.

Twelve years earlier, she had disappeared three days before their wedding.

Her car had been found near the Hudson River.

There had been blood on the driver’s seat.

The police assumed she had been murdered.

Julian had mourned her for years.

Now she stood in front of him, alive.

Older.

Thinner.

A faint scar running from her temple to her jaw.

“You’re alive,” Julian whispered.

“Barely.”

“Did you shoot Mara?”

“No.”

“Then why did she see you?”

“Because I was chasing the person who did.”

Evelyn opened her hand.

The black envelope rested in her palm.

Julian stared at it.

“You took it.”

“To stop Sebastian from taking it.”

“Where have you been for twelve years?”

Evelyn’s eyes filled with pain, but she refused to cry.

“Your father found out I knew too much.”

“My father died eight years ago.”

“He didn’t die, Julian.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Julian stepped closer.

“I stood beside his coffin.”

“You stood beside an empty coffin.”

She handed him a photograph.

It showed Conrad Ashford entering a private clinic in Switzerland.

The date printed in the corner was six months earlier.

Julian looked at the image again.

“This could be fake.”

“It isn’t.”

“Why would my father fake his death?”

Evelyn’s voice dropped.

“Because he built the syndicate’s real business beneath Ashford Capital.”

“What real business?”

“Blackmail. Political control. Illegal surveillance. They’ve recorded every powerful person in that ballroom.”

Julian looked toward the floor below.

The Astor gala wasn’t merely a meeting place for powerful people.

It was a trap.

A golden cage.

“And Sebastian?” Julian asked.

“He’s been working for your father since you became president.”

A loud pounding came from outside the gallery door.

“Federal agents!” someone shouted. “Open the door!”

Evelyn backed toward a second exit.

“Come with me.”

Julian looked at the photograph of his father.

Then he looked at the locked door.

“Why should I trust you?”

Evelyn’s face broke for the first time.

“Because I didn’t leave you.”

She reached beneath her necklace and pulled out a small silver ring.

Julian recognized it instantly.

It was the engagement ring he had given her.

“I was taken,” she said.

The gallery door burst open.

Sebastian stood behind the officers.

He pointed at Evelyn.

“She shot Agent Vance.”

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Then he looked at Julian.

“And my brother helped her.”