Chloe did not expect the message to arrive on the restricted phone.
It came through as a blank text from an unknown number at 2:17 p.m., while Marcus was on a secure call in the study and the penthouse had settled into its usual tense quiet. She almost deleted it. Then the second message followed.
Roof garden. Twenty minutes. Come alone. I have something on Arthur that you need.
No name. No signature. But the phrasing carried an old familiarity she had not heard in years.
Charlie Higgins.
She stared at the screen until the words blurred. Charlie had been Marcus’s college roommate, then an early investor, then a man who drifted to the edges of their world when the money got serious. He smiled too easily. He remembered every favor and every slight. The last time she had seen him was at
