The baby weighed two pounds, four ounces.Adrian stood at the NICU observation window, staring at the impossibly small life fighting for survival on the other side of the glass. Tubes and wires connected the infant to machines that beeped and hummed with mechanical precision. A ventilator breathed for lungs that weren't ready to work on their own. An IV line fed nutrition into veins barely visible beneath translucent skin.Twenty-eight weeks. Three months too early. The experimental procedure had saved both Isabella and the baby, but it couldn't change the fundamental reality that this child had been forced into the world before its time."Survival is uncertain for the next seventy-two hours," Dr. Morgan had said in her careful, clinical way. "If the baby makes it through three days, the prognosis improves significantly. But there are no guarantees."No guarantees. The story of Adrian's entire life, condensed into two words."Mr. Kane." A nurse approached him, her expression professio

The security sweep began at dawn.Adrian stood in the hospital's executive conference room, watching through the glass as specialists in black tactical gear moved through St. Mary's with electronic detection equipment. Ryker had assembled the team within two hours of identifying Vivienne—ex-military, vetted personally, loyal to the Kane name rather than the money.They found the first device behind a painting in Isabella's recovery room.The second was embedded in the NICU observation area's molding.By the time they finished the sweep three hours later, they'd discovered twelve listening devices scattered throughout the hospital. All of them bore the same serpent seal that had been on the envelope from Richard's pocket.Ryker placed the collection of bugs on the conference table in front of Adrian. They were small, sophisticated, expensive. The kind of equipment that required serious resources and serious expertise."Military-grade," Ryker said, his voice tight with professional ange

The NICU alarms screamed like sirens of the apocalypse.Adrian burst through the hospital doors at a dead run, security scrambling to keep up with him. He could hear the chaos before he saw it—doctors shouting orders, nurses calling for emergency equipment, the mechanical shriek of monitors detecting a life slipping away.Dr. Morgan intercepted him before he reached the NICU observation window."Mr. Kane, you can't—""What happened?" Adrian's voice cut through her protest like a blade."The baby's oxygen saturation dropped suddenly. We don't know why. His lungs were improving, but something triggered a cascade failure." Her professional calm was cracking at the edges. "We're doing everything we can, but he's only been alive for seventy-two hours. His system can't handle much more stress."Through the observation window, Adrian could see the medical team working with controlled urgency. The baby—so impossibly small—was surrounded by machines and desperate hands trying to keep him alive

Vincent Kane's voice came through the prison phone line like ice cracking on a frozen lake—cold, measured, revealing absolutely nothing."You were arrested," Vincent said, his tone carrying neither surprise nor sympathy. "Good. You're learning what real power costs."Adrian pressed the phone closer to his ear, hyper-aware of the forty-five seconds remaining on his allotted call time. Federal detention didn't allow for long conversations, even for billionaires calling their dying fathers."I didn't call for your assessment of my education," Adrian said, keeping his voice level. "I called for answers.""Did you? Or did you call hoping I'd rescue you? Send lawyers, pull strings, make this all go away like the problems you faced as a child?""I have lawyers. Twelve of them." Adrian cut through his father's philosophical musings with surgical precision. "What I need from you is simple. Did you send assassins after me? Yes or no."The silence stretched for five full seconds. In the backgrou

Isabella's body convulsed on the concrete steps, her spine arching impossibly as the neurotoxin flooded her nervous system.Paramedics appeared within ninety seconds—the detention center had its own emergency response team for exactly these situations. They moved with practiced efficiency, checking vitals, establishing airway, preparing for immediate transport."Pupils fully dilated. Pulse one-forty and climbing. Respiratory distress. Possible seizure activity." The lead paramedic's voice was clipped, professional. "We need to move now."Agent Walsh was already on her radio, coordinating with hospital emergency services. "St. Mary's, we're inbound with critical patient. Female, late twenties, suspected poisoning via injection. ETA seven minutes."The "journalist" who'd injected Isabella had vanished into the crowd of reporters like smoke dissipating in wind. By the time security reviewed what had happened and tried to pursue, he was gone. No trace. No witnesses who could provide usefu