Grant Holloway saw a dead woman through the window of a baby store. At least, she was supposed to be dead.

Vance saw the ticket in Grant’s hand and all the color drained from his face. The bloody split on his lip suddenly looked very stark against his pale skin.

He scrambled backward, his shoes slipping on the wet linoleum until his back hit the lower cabinets.

"Grant, wait," Vance pleaded, raising both hands. "That’s not what you think."

"It’s a ticket to Richmond," Grant said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He took one step closer. "Dated October 14th. Four years ago. The night dad was shot."

Jolene watched from the doorway, her hand still clutching the silver key, but the anger in her eyes was slowly being replaced by confusion, then dawning horror.

"They found the matching half in dad’s pocket," Grant continued, his words precise, cutting through the dusty air like a blade. "The police said he was going to meet someone. Someone he trusted enough to travel in secret. He bought two tickets."

Grant knelt slowly, bringing his face inches from his brother’s.

"Why do you have the other ticket, Vance?"

"I didn't kill him!" Vance shouted, his voice cracking. Tears of pure terror welled in his eyes. "I swear to God, Grant, I didn't pull the trigger!"

"But you knew," Grant said softly. "You were the one he was meeting."

Vance sobbed, a pathetic, broken sound. "Desmond made me do it. He told me dad was going to burn the company down. Dad was going to hand the ledger to the feds and destroy everything we had built. Desmond said we had to stop him."

Grant’s fingers tightened around the faded yellow cardstock until it crumpled.

"You set him up," Grant said. "You asked him to meet you at the station. And you let Desmond’s men wait in the alley."

"I was trying to save the family!" Vance cried out.

Grant stood up. He felt completely hollowed out. A cold, black void where his loyalty to his family used to be. For four years, he had hunted ghosts, trying to find the men who had orchestrated his father's death. And the architect had been sitting across from him at every Thanksgiving dinner.

He looked down at Vance. He wanted to kill him. The urge was so violent it made his hands shake.

Instead, Grant turned to Jolene.

"We need to go. Now."

Jolene didn’t argue this time. She had seen the look in Grant’s eyes. She nodded, pulling the oversized cashmere coat tighter around herself, and walked toward the door.

"Grant!" Vance called out as Grant opened the deadbolt. "You can't walk away! Desmond knows about the baby! He knows I have her! He’s going to kill us all!"

Grant didn’t look back. "Stay here and wait for him, then."

He led Jolene down the darkened stairwell, keeping his body between her and any potential threat. They slipped out the back alley, sticking to the shadows until they reached his car.

He opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in, exhausted, her hands resting heavily on her stomach.

Grant got behind the wheel and drove. He took a convoluted route, doubling back through industrial parks and narrow residential streets, making sure they weren't followed. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the underground garage of a high-end condominium building. He owned it under a shell corporation. No one in the family knew about it.

They took the private elevator in silence. When they entered the penthouse, Grant locked the reinforced door, engaged the deadbolts, and activated the security system.

He turned on a single, dim lamp in the living room.

Jolene sank onto the plush leather sofa, letting out a long, shuddering breath. She looked incredibly fragile in the dim light.

"Are you hungry?" Grant asked, keeping his distance. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm just tired," Jolene whispered. She looked up at him. "Your brother... he really betrayed your father."

"Yes."

"And Desmond ordered it."

"Yes."

Jolene shook her head slowly. "I didn't know. My father just told me to keep the ledger hidden. He said it was an insurance policy."

"It's a death warrant," Grant said flatly. "Desmond will scorch the earth to find it. And he'll do the same to find you."

Jolene reached into her pocket. She pulled out the silver key and set it on the glass coffee table between them.

"Take it," she said.

Grant looked at the key. "Why?"

"Because the ledger doesn't just prove Desmond's financial crimes," Jolene said softly. "It proves something else. Something my father discovered right before he died. Something that made him realize he had to protect you."

Grant frowned. "Protect me from what?"

"From the truth about your fiancé," a voice said from the shadows of the hallway.

Grant spun around, his hand instinctively dropping toward the holster at his waist.

A figure stepped out of the dark corridor into the dim light of the living room.

It was Monica.

She was wearing a sleek trench coat, her blonde hair perfectly styled. But she wasn't looking at Grant. She was looking at the silver key on the table.