Harold Rossi sat in the dark, the phone still humming with the dial tone of Czar’s final warning. He looked at Sofia and Priscilla, who were waiting like vultures for good news.
"He stopped the short-selling," Harold whispered, his voice hollow.
Sofia let out a breathy laugh, clutching her pearls. "I knew it! Blood is thicker than water. That girl finally did something useful—"
"He didn't give us a dime, Sofia!" Harold roared, slamming his fist on the mahogany desk. "He pulled his claws back, but he left us in the dirt. We have no investors, no credit, and no leverage." He looked at Priscilla, whose face was a mask of smudged mascara. "And he took your grandfather. He’s gone, Priscilla. Czar moved him to a Mordrake facility. We can't even get past the front gate to see him."
The realiz
