Snow Angel: Rebirth

PROLOGUE Michael Haldron stood in his office, the ice in his scotch clinking against the glass as his hand trembled — not from the cold, but from the humiliation of being ignored. “Pick up. Where the hell are you?” His voice cracked through the mountain estate, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings and polished stone like a command that had always been obeyed — until tonight. He stared out the massive windows as the blizzard swallowed the ridgeline. The storm was a white wall, erasing everything beyond it. He hated storms. They made him feel blind. His knuckles whitened around the handset. A burst of static tore through the line, followed by a crackling voice. Michael’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” he snapped, though the tremor in his voice betrayed more than anger — it betrayed fear. Across the ridge, Jason Whitley pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the screen. “We didn’t get any calls, boss. Service is trash up here. With this blizzard, it’s worse. We tried to call you right after the car went over, but nothing went through. It’s a complete whiteout.” Michael’s throat tightened. He hated excuses. Hated incompetence. Hated that he needed these men at all. “Did you search her before the car went over?” His voice dropped low and dangerous — but underneath it, something else flickered: panic. A long hesitation. “No, boss. We dressed her. We didn’t need to search her.” Whitley’s voice wavered. “What’s going on?” Michael’s fingers dug into the glass. “Did you check her coat?” “Her coat? Boss, like I said, we dre—” “She took it.” The words ripped out of him, raw and furious. “She took everything. The ledger. The disc. If the information on those get out—” He swallowed hard. His throat felt tight. His chest tighter. “I’m dead,” he whispered, the admission barely audible. “Boss, I—” “Shut up!” Michael roared, the fear snapping into rage. “Get back out there. Find her body. And get me that book.” He slammed the phone down, the line cutting to a dead hiss. For a moment, he stood there, breathing hard, staring at his reflection in the glass — a man who had built an empire with his bare hands, now shaking like a child in a storm. He hated storms. He hated being afraid even more.