A billionaire died for 52 seconds on a commercial flight, and while everyone watched in silence, a poor 10-year-old girl brought him back—then asked for something that left the entire cabin crying.

"She’s not an orphan," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a register that made the room’s air feel ten degrees colder. "And she’s not going anywhere with the NYPD or your hired thugs."

Julian chuckled softly. "Daniel, you died fifty-two seconds ago. Your brain lacked oxygen. You’re holding onto fairy tales spoken by a child who was sent here by corporate extortionists."

Julian signaled to the two men in trench coats. "Gentlemen, secure the child and confiscate that illegal prototype."

The two men stepped forward.

Before either of them could draw a breath, Marcus Cole moved with blinding speed. He grabbed the wrist of the lead gunman, twisted it until the bone snapped with a wet crack, and slammed the man’s head into the marble doorframe.

The second gunman reached for his armpit holster, but Daniel—fueled by seventeen years of suppressed rage—stepped in, grabbed the heavy brass IV pole beside his bed, and swung it like a baseball bat.

The pole struck the gunman squarely across the chest, sending him crashing into the glass coffee table, which shattered into a thousand glittering shards.

"Security shut down!" Marcus yelled into his radio. "Override the service elevator! We’re burning the location!"

Julian staggered back into the hallway, his face twisted in horror and shock. "You're crazy, Daniel! You'll lose everything! The board will vote you out by morning!"

"Keep the company, Julian!" Daniel roared, grabbing Lily in his arms and securing her inside his coat. "Because when I come back, I’m taking your life!"

Marcus pulled a smoke canister from his tactical belt, popped the pin, and threw it into the hallway. Thick, acrid white smoke filled the corridor, setting off the hospital fire alarms. Sprinklers erupted overhead, raining water down on the chaotic scene.

They sprinted down the emergency stairwell, descending six flights until they reached the underground loading dock beneath the hospital.

A matte-black, bulletproof Suburban was idling in the bay, driven by Marcus’s most trusted lieutenant, a quiet former Special Forces driver named Vance—no relation to Julian.

"Get in!" Marcus barked.

Daniel threw Lily into the back seat, scrambled in beside her, and slammed the reinforced door. The Suburban accelerated out of the underground garage, its tires screaming as it smashed through the wooden security gate and burst into the dark, rain-drenched streets of Manhattan.

"Where are we going, Mr. Sterling?" the driver asked, checking his mirrors as two black sedans pulled out from an alleyway behind them, trailing their movement.

"Maine," Daniel said, pulling the silver key from his pocket and looking at Lily. "First, we stop in Boston to open this vault. Then we go to Bar Harbor."

Lily looked up at Daniel, her small frame shivering in the wet hoodie. "Are they going to kill my mom?"

Daniel wrapped his heavy arm around her, pulling her close against his chest. He could feel the tiny beat of her heart against his ribs—a steady, brave rhythm that had brought him back from the dead.