On the night the Feng family threw Adrian West out of their house, he was holding the most valuable thing in the world. Not one person in the room knew it. Adrian did not know it either. Not yet.It started with laughter."Look at him," a man said from the third table. "Two years in this family, and he still wears the same old suit."The laugh rolled across the grand hall like a cold wind. Two hundred guests sat under bright crystal lights, eating food that cost more than most people earn in a month. It was the fortieth anniversary of Feng Antiques, the biggest antique house in the city, and everyone important was there. Now every one of them turned to look at the man standing near the door.Adrian kept his face calm. He had learned this a long time ago. When people laugh at you, the worst thing you can do is show them it hurts.He was twenty eight years old, tall and thin, with tired eyes that looked like they had not slept well in years. His suit was clean but old. The sleeves were

Adrian ran like his life depended on it. But it was not his life he was afraid for.The old city was dark and wet. His ribs burned with every step, and the cut on his hand had opened again. He did not care. He jumped off the roof, landed hard in an alley, and ran toward the Feng estate with the half jade pressed against his chest.Ten minutes. He had left her alone for ten minutes.He took the shortcut through the fish market. Then he went through the broken door, down Tea Lane, and over the low wall. Now every street he had walked for two years was helping him. His breath came out in white clouds. His mind kept saying one thing again and again.Please be there. Please be okay.He reached the back wall of the estate and climbed it in three seconds. At the top, he stopped.Below him, near the back gate, a black van sat with its engine running. Its side door was open. Two big men in dark coats stood next to it, and between them was Helen.She was fighting.One man held her arm. She twis

Adrian did not go to the pier right away.He sat on the narrow bed for a long time with the phone in his hand. His heart said, Marcus is your friend. His mind said, Victor Han told you the truth.Both could not be right.At last he stood up. He pulled up a loose board under the bed, the one he had hidden things under for two years. He took the half jade from his pocket, wrapped it in an old cloth, and put it inside. Then he pushed the board back and covered it with his shoe.If it was a trap, they would not get the jade.He needed something to carry in its place. He went out through the back door and walked to the garbage bin behind the Feng shop. It was a dirty job, but he knew the shop owners threw broken things there every week. After a few minutes, he found what he wanted. A small piece of green glass, cracked, about the size of his hand.In the dark, it looked almost like the real thing.He put it in his pocket and walked out of the back gate without telling anyone.The old pier

Adrian sat very still in the back of the car.Helen's words kept running in his head. A letter. His grandfather's handwriting. Written the day before he died."Are you sure?" he asked. "Helen, are you really sure?""I saw it with my own eyes." She held the yellow page tight. "I was fifteen, and I was looking for a pen in my father's desk. I found a drawer with a small lock. The lock was broken that day, so I opened it. Inside was one old letter and a heavy box. My father came in and shouted at me. He never shouts. I never forgot it."Chen looked at them in the mirror. "Miss Feng, should I drive on?""Yes. Drive fast."The Feng house was dark and quiet when they arrived. The guests were gone. The big hall was empty, and the paper lanterns hung in the garden like tired eyes. Madam Feng's light was off. Kevin's car was not in the yard."My father will be in his study," Helen whispered. "He never sleeps before two."They went up the back stairs without a sound. At the end of the hallway,

The dark was so thick that Adrian could not see his own fingers.Somewhere close, a woman was screaming. It was Madam Feng. Somewhere else, a chair was rolling across the floor. Glass crunched under heavy shoes. The cold wind from the broken window pushed the curtains into the room, and they moved like ghosts.The hand on Adrian's sleeve did not let go."Do not move," the voice whispered again. It was an old voice, rough like sand, but very calm. "Count to three with me. Then walk where I pull you."Adrian did not count. He did not walk. He did the one thing the voice told him not to do.He turned toward Helen.Two seconds ago, she had been standing by the desk with Victor's gun pointed at her chest. Now there was only black where she had been. Adrian reached out with his free hand and felt nothing but air. His heart was beating so hard that it hurt."Helen," he said. Not loud. Just enough."Here." Her voice came from his left, very close. It was shaking. "Adrian, I am here."His fing