"Damon, the water's too hot again! Are you trying to cook my daughter's feet?"Damon Vale didn't answer his mother-in-law. He knelt on the cold bathroom tiles of the Whitmore villa, added a cup of cold water to the bowl and kept washing his wife's feet, slowly and carefully, as he had done every morning and every night for five years.Vivian Whitmore sat on the edge of the bathtub in a white silk dress and scrolled through her phone. She didn't look down at him once."Hurry up," Margaret snapped from the doorway, her pearls clicking as she folded her arms. "Tonight is Vivian's twenty-seventh birthday, and the best families in Eastbay will be here in one hour. You'll serve the drinks, you'll keep your mouth shut and you'll stay out of every photo. Understand?""Yes, Mother.""Don't call me that. I'm not your mother; I'm the woman who feeds you."That was how all of Eastbay knew him. He was the brain-damaged beggar that old Arthur Whitmore had found under a bridge and married to his eld

The storeroom door crashed open at sunrise."Up, dog!" Derek stood in the doorway in a tight gym shirt, his gold chain swinging. "You're crawling to the Grant mansion today, on your hands and knees, up Harbor Hill. Then you'll kneel at Lucas's gate until he forgives you."Margaret appeared behind him in a silk robe, her red hair still in rollers. "And you have three days to sign the divorce papers. After that, you leave this house with nothing, not even those rags you sleep in."Damon stood up slowly. Dried blood still marked his temple, but his back was straight, and he looked at them both without blinking."No."Derek's mouth fell open. "What did you just say to me?""I said no. I'm not crawling anywhere.""Five years you've been licking our floors, and now you think you can say no?" Derek's face turned red. He pulled back his right fist and threw the same punch he had thrown a hundred times before, straight at Damon's nose.Damon caught his wrist with two fingers.Derek pulled and

"Charge the paddles!" the grey-haired doctor shouted. "Clear!"The old man's body jumped on the marble floor, and the green line stayed flat."Again! Clear!"Nothing changed. The line didn't even flicker.Damon twisted out of the guards' grip so fast that they were left holding nothing. Three steps later he was on his knees beside Dr. Henry Moore, and the silver needles were already out of the paper bag."Don't touch him!" Elena grabbed his shoulder with both hands. "I swear I'll have you arrested!""Arrest me when he's breathing."He didn't look at her. His right hand moved, and the first needle slid in just below the old man's collarbone. The second went into the center of his chest, and the third and fourth on either side of his throat; the fifth and sixth went into the insides of his wrists, and the seventh into the very top of his head.Each needle went in with a tiny twist, and each one shivered when it stopped."What is he doing?" a young nurse whispered."Killing him faster,"

"Red Root, Tiger Bone Vine and a handful of Cold Moss," Damon said, laying the black card on the wooden counter. "The oldest you have."The herbalist on Old Herb Street was a thin man with a wispy beard and a sour face. He looked at Damon's torn clothes, then at the card, and snorted."Those roots aren't for beggars, friend. Do you know what Tiger Bone Vine costs?""Run the card."The man rolled his eyes and swiped it, then stared at the screen, swiped it again and stared harder. His face changed color twice. Without another word, he hurried into the back room and returned with three paper parcels wrapped in red string."The best I have, sir," he said, bowing a little. "Fifty years old, every root.""Thank you. Do you have any Blood Ginseng? Five hundred years or older?"The herbalist laughed nervously. "Sir, there's only one root that old in all of Eastbay, and it sits in the Grant family vault. Old Mr. Grant shows it off at parties like a gold watch.""Does he now?" Damon picked up

The Grand Imperial Hotel glowed at the top of Harbor Avenue like a palace made of light. Black cars lined the driveway, cameras flashed along the red carpet, and the richest families in Eastbay stepped out in silk and diamonds.Inside, the main ballroom held three hundred guests. A band played under gold flowers, and a news crew from Eastbay Channel Six stood by the wall with their camera already rolling. Lucas Grant had paid for every bit of it.At the head table sat Grandmother Agatha with a leather folder in front of her. It held the divorce papers, open to the last page.Damon walked up the red carpet in his old grey work clothes, and the photographers lowered their cameras, because nobody wanted a picture of him.The two guards at the door stepped together and blocked his way. "Kitchen staff use the back entrance.""I'm a guest.""Sure you are, and I'm the President." One of them shoved his shoulder. "Get lost before we drag you."The second guard laughed. "Look at his shoes, man