Chapter 1 - THE THING IN SHA’S HAND
The small black piece hit the marble floor with a sharp metallic click.
Victoria Reyes saw it before Oliver Hale did.
Eight-year-old Sha stood barefoot beside the enormous kitchen island in his father’s Greenwich mansion, one hand pressed hard against his right ear. His pale blue sweater had twisted at the shoulder from how frantically he’d been scratching.
“Uh… ah… ah…”
His face tightened with pain.
Victoria dropped to one knee.
“What is that, sweetheart?”
Sha opened his other hand.
A tiny black object rested against his palm, no bigger than the end of Victoria’s pinkie. It looked metallic, but not quite like jewelry, a hearing aid, or anything she recognized.
Sha pointed to his ear.
Then to the object.
Then back to his ear.
Victoria reached carefully toward him.
“Did that come out of—”
Oliver’s hand struck hers away.
Not hard enough to injure her.
Hard enough to make the message unmistakable.
“Stay out of my family.”
Victoria looked up.
Oliver had entered from the breakfast room so quickly she hadn’t heard him.
At forty-four, he carried his wealth like armor: tailored black shirt, expensive watch, controlled posture. Even angry, he rarely raised his voice.
This time he did.
“Get away from him.”
Sha moved before Victoria could answer.
Not toward his father.
Behind her.
Victoria felt the boy’s fingers catch the back of her burgundy apron.
Oliver’s expression changed for half a second.
Not anger.
Fear.
Then it disappeared.
“Sha.”
The boy shook his head.
“Come here.”
Another frantic shake.
Oliver grabbed his upper arm.
Sha stumbled as his father pulled him toward the hallway.
“Uh! Uh! Ah!”
His free hand stretched back toward Victoria.
Oliver tightened his grip.
“Enough.”
Sha’s eyes filled.
He pointed at Victoria.
At his ear.
Then lifted the black object.
His lips shaped a word no sound followed.
Help.
Victoria stopped breathing.
Oliver saw it too.
He reached for Sha’s fist.
“Give me that.”
Sha closed his fingers around the object.
Oliver’s jaw tightened.
“Sha.”
The boy shook his head so hard his hair fell across his forehead.
Victoria stood.
“Oliver, you’re hurting him.”
“I said stay out of it.”
“Then let go of his arm.”
Oliver stared at her.
“You work for me.”
“I work in your house. That’s not the same thing.”
Something cold entered his face.
He pulled Sha toward the hall.
The boy began crying silently except for strained little sounds in his throat.
“Ah… uh…”
Then his fist opened.
The black piece dropped again.
It bounced once beside Victoria’s shoe.
Oliver didn’t see where it landed.
Sha did.
His eyes locked on Victoria’s.
She covered the object with her foot.
Oliver dragged him around the corner.
Sha twisted backward until the last possible second, both arms reaching toward her.
Then they were gone.
Victoria remained beside the kitchen island.
The mansion had gone strangely ordinary around her—the Sub-Zero refrigerator humming, rain tapping the windows, a coffee maker blinking 8:17.
She bent down.
The black object felt heavier than it looked.
On the underside, under a smear of dried skin and something that looked disturbingly like blood, were six tiny engraved characters.
A serial number.
Victoria wrapped it in a clean paper napkin.
Behind her, Oliver’s voice came from the hallway.
“Victoria.”
She turned.
He stood alone now.
Sha was nowhere in sight.
Oliver looked at her closed fist.
“What did he drop?”
Victoria met his eyes.
“A button.”
Oliver stared at her for a long moment.
May you like
Then he said something that told her he knew she was lying.
“Give it to me.”
