REJECTED, THEN THEY FOUND OUT I WAS A BILLIONAIRE

CHAPTER SIX: THE MEN AT THE DOOR

The handle moved slowly. Richard stopped breathing. Grant stood beside the desk, the old envelope clutched tightly in his hand. The assistant backed away from the door.

Another click. The lock held. For now.

"Mr. Grant," the voice outside called again. "Open the door."

Richard glanced at Grant. "Who are they?"

Grant didn't answer.

"Mr. Grant."

"I don't know."

"You don't sound like you believe that."

Grant looked at him. "I don't."

The handle stopped moving. For three seconds, there was silence. Then a bang shook the entire door.

Richard flinched. The assistant gasped.

"Call security," Grant ordered.

"I already did."

"Then call them again."

The assistant pulled out his phone with trembling fingers. Another bang shook the door harder. Richard's eyes moved around the room. The paperweight. The windows. The hidden door. The letter opener beneath his sleeve. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. Only twelve hours ago, his biggest problem had been getting rejected by the woman he loved. Now strangers were trying to break into a lawyer's office because of his dead father. His life had changed too quickly.

"Richard."

He looked at Grant.

"Take this." Grant held out the envelope.

Richard stared at it. "What?"

"Keep it."

"You said it belongs to me."

"It does."

"Then why are you giving it to me like we're about to die?"

Grant's expression hardened. "Because if they get inside, I don't know what they'll do."

Another impact rattled the door. Richard grabbed the envelope, his fingers closing around the old paper. For some reason, holding it made his stomach turn. His father's handwriting. His father's secret. Twenty-two years of silence. And three words that refused to leave his mind. Trust no one.

"There's another exit," Richard said.

Grant looked toward the bookshelf. "You noticed."

"Is it an exit?"

"Private staircase."

"Where does it lead?"

"Ground floor."

Richard nodded. "Then let's go."

Grant didn't move.

"What?"

"If we leave through there, they'll know we're running."

Richard stared at him. "They're already trying to break down your door."

Grant opened his mouth, and the door exploded inward.

The assistant screamed. Richard stumbled backward as three men rushed into the office. The first wore a black jacket and held a handgun.

"Nobody move!"

Everything froze. The man's eyes swept across the room, then stopped on Richard.

"You."

Richard's mouth went dry. The man raised the gun. "Come with us."

Richard looked at Grant. The lawyer's face had gone completely still.

"Who sent you?" Grant asked.

The man smiled. "That's not your concern." He pointed the gun at Richard again. "Move."

Richard didn't. His hands were shaking. His knees felt weak. But something inside him refused to obey.

The man stepped closer. "I said move."

Richard swallowed. "Where are you taking me?"

The man laughed softly. "You don't need to know."

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

The smile disappeared from the man's face. He stepped closer. "Don't make this difficult."

Richard's fingers tightened around the envelope. The man reached for him.

Richard moved. He swung the paperweight from the desk with everything he had.

It struck the man's wrist with a sharp crack. The gun fell. Richard froze for half a second. He hadn't expected it to work. Neither had the man.

Then the room erupted. The second man lunged toward Richard. Richard ducked, and a fist flew over his head, slamming into the bookshelf. Richard stumbled sideways.

"Run!" Grant shouted.

The assistant sprinted toward the hidden door. Richard followed. Behind him, someone yelled. He heard a gunshot rip through the air. Richard's heart nearly stopped. He threw himself through the hidden doorway. Grant came behind him and slammed the door shut.

"Keep moving!"

They raced down a narrow staircase. Richard's shoes slipped against the polished steps. He grabbed the railing.

"Who the hell are these people?"

Grant kept moving. "I told you. I don't know."

"You know something!"

"I know enough to understand that you're in danger."

"Because of my father?"

Grant didn't answer.

Richard stopped. Grant turned.

"Move!"

"Answer me!"

"They aren't after you because of who you are now."

Richard stared at him. "Then why?"

Grant's face tightened. "Because of what you could become."

A noise came from above. The door opened.

"They're coming!" the assistant shouted.

Richard's stomach dropped. They started running again. They reached another door. Grant pushed it open.

A parking garage. Richard stepped outside. Cars filled the underground levels. People moved between them, completely unaware of what was happening.

"Where's my car?" Grant asked the assistant.

"Level B2."

"Go."

They hurried toward the elevator. Richard looked back. Nothing. For one second, he thought they'd escaped.

Then he saw a man standing at the top of the staircase. Watching them. Richard stopped. The man didn't chase them. He simply smiled. Then he lifted his phone.

Richard's phone vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket. Unknown number. One message.

Your father should have stayed dead.

Richard stared at the screen. His fingers went cold.

Grant saw his face. "What is it?"

Richard slowly turned the phone toward him. Grant read the message. All the color drained from his face.

"Get in the car," he whispered.

Richard didn't move. "Why?"

Grant looked toward the staircase. "Because now they know exactly where you are."

The elevator doors opened. And inside stood a man Richard had never seen before. The man looked directly at him. Then smiled.

"Mr. Black."

Richard froze. The man reached inside his jacket and pulled out a photograph. Richard's heart stopped. It was a picture of his father. But Alexander Black wasn't alone. Standing beside him was a much younger Elias Grant. And between them stood a third man Richard had never seen before.

Richard's eyes snapped to Grant, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would explain why he was standing in a photograph he'd claimed he knew nothing about the reasons behind. But Grant wasn't looking at Richard. He was staring at the photograph itself, and for the first time since Richard had walked into his office, the lawyer's composure cracked. His jaw tightened. His hand, still holding the car keys, went still.

"You recognize that picture," Richard said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Grant didn't answer. His eyes hadn't moved from the photograph, from his own younger face standing beside Alexander Black and a stranger Richard couldn't place. Whatever Grant was seeing in that image, it wasn't a pleasant memory.

The man in the elevator slowly raised his eyes. "Your father left you more than money." The elevator doors began closing. "He left you enemies."

Click. The doors shut.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then Richard turned to Grant. "Who's the third man?"

Grant's face had gone pale, paler than it had been even when he'd read the text message minutes earlier. "Get in the car."

"Grant."

"Not here." Grant's voice was low, urgent, and for the first time since Richard had met him that morning, it also sounded afraid. "I'll explain everything. Just not here."

Richard stared at him a moment longer, the trust he'd started to place in this man now sitting uneasily beside a new and sharper question: how much of what Grant had told him so far had been the whole truth.