Seven-year-old Toby Miller pressed his newest crayon sketch against the pale wall of Room 412, filling the very last patch of empty space next to the unconscious man’s bed.

Hector Diaz was enjoying his early retirement. The mechanic had bought a beachfront villa in Cabo San Lucas with the crypto Julian Sterling had paid him. He spent his days drinking expensive tequila and his nights at the local casinos.

He thought he was a ghost. He didn't know that Arthur Sterling had facial recognition software scanning every security camera in North America.

It was 2:00 AM when Hector stumbled out of a nightclub, heavily intoxicated. He walked down a dimly lit alley toward his sports car.

Suddenly, two massive men stepped out of the shadows. Before Hector could scream, a heavy bag was pulled over his head, and he was shoved into the back of a waiting van.

When the bag was finally removed, Hector was strapped to a steel chair in a cold, concrete basement. A single overhead light illuminated the room.

From the shadows, a motorized wheelchair hummed forward.

Hector’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror. The world thought Arthur Sterling was dead. But here he was, sitting in the gloom, looking like an angel of death.

"Hello, Hector," Arthur said smoothly.

"You... you're a ghost," Hector stammered, straining against his zip ties.

"Not yet," Arthur replied. He wheeled closer, placing a digital tablet on the table between them. "I know Julian paid you to cut my brakes. I know you rigged the steering column to fail. What I need to know is what you kept as an insurance policy."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Arthur sighed. "Hector, men like you don't trust men like Julian. You kept proof. A recording. A text thread. Something to keep him from killing you. Give it to me, and you live. Lie to me, and my men will throw you out of an airplane over the Gulf of Mexico."