I married a lonely elderly woman for her money and a roof over my head. But after her funeral, her attorney gave me a box and said, “She told me this is what you truly wanted.”

I had the money, but I couldn't run. Not if it meant my sister died for my mistakes.

I bought a cheap used truck with the cash from Eleanor's ghost account and drove toward the Seattle shipyards. The rain was coming down in sheets now, obscuring the massive, rusting shipping containers that lined the docks.

I parked the truck a block away and approached Pier 44 on foot.

In the center of the pier, surrounded by four men with automatic rifles, was my sister, Sarah. She was tied to a chair, crying, her face bruised. Standing next to her was the Volkov boss—a hulking man with a scarred face.

But it was the man standing next to him that made my blood boil.

The lawyer. The one from the reading of the will.

"Julian!" the lawyer called out, wiping rain from his face. "Bring the bag! Don't do anything stupid!"

I walked out from behind a shipping container, holding the canvas duffel bag up in the rain.

"Let her go!" I yelled over the storm. "I have the bonds. Take them and let us walk away."

The Volkov boss laughed. "You are in no position to negotiate, boy."

He nodded to his men. Two of them rushed me, snatching the bag from my hands and kicking my legs out from under me. I hit the wet concrete hard, tasting blood.

The boss unzipped the bag and pulled out a stack of bonds. He smiled greedily.