Chapter 3 - THE STERLING CRESTThe front door of the salon swung open, sending a chill blast of winter air across the warm, scented room.
A tall man in his late fifties stepped inside. He wore a cashmere coat, carried an ivory-headed cane, and walked with the absolute, arrogant authority of a man who owned entire zip codes. His hair was silver, his eyes gray and lifeless like flat slate.
Julian Sterling—the current interim CEO of Sterling Global Logistics and one of the most powerful political donors on the East Coast.
Behind him, two armed guards took positions by the door, their hands tucked inside their jackets.
“Adrian Kane,” Julian said, his voice smooth and cold. “I was told a mob boss was causing a scene on Fifth Avenue. I didn't believe it until I saw your black cars outside.”
Adrian didn't move an inch from where he stood in front of Wren. “You’re trespassing on a private booking, Sterling. Get out.”
Julian’s eyes drifted past Adrian’s shoulder, locking onto the pale girl sitting in the chair with short, damp chestnut hair. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.
“So it is true,” Julian murmured, taking a slow step forward. “The street trash was carrying a lost treasure.”
“She isn't trash,” Adrian said, his hand sliding inside his overcoat toward his weapon. “And she isn't yours.”
“She belongs to the Sterling estate,” Julian countered sharply, his voice dropping all warmth. “Genevieve Sterling went missing ten years ago during the fire that killed her parents. Her grandfather’s will explicitly states that if she is not found alive before her twenty-fifth birthday, her fifty-percent controlling share of the company defaults permanently to me.”
Julian checked his gold pocket watch. “Her twenty-fifth birthday is in forty-eight hours, Kane. I’ve spent ten years searching every ditch in this state for her.”
“You didn't spend ten years searching for her to save her, Julian,” Adrian spat out, his dark eyes flashing with lethal intent. “You spent ten years making sure she stayed hidden. Or better yet, dead.”
Wren crouched behind Adrian, her fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. Memories—sharp, fragmented, and terrifying—began tearing through her mind. A house filled with black smoke. A man’s heavy boots walking past her hiding spot in the hallway closet. The smell of gasoline. And the face of the man who had set the match—the man standing ten feet away from her right now.
“Uncle Julian...” Wren whispered, the long-buried name tearing from her throat like broken glass.
Julian’s smile tightened into a grim line. “Ah. So you do remember something. A pity.”
Julian flicked his wrist toward his guards. “Take her into the car. We have a medical team waiting to verify her identity.”
Before the guards could take two steps, Marco Reyes and three of Adrian’s men drew their handguns, aiming them straight at Julian’s chest. The stylists shrieked, ducking behind the marble washing stations.
“Step back,” Marco warned coldly.
Julian didn't flinch. He looked at Adrian with supreme contempt. “You want a war in the middle of Manhattan, Kane? You’re a wounded street criminal playing with corporate gods. You can't protect her from the law, and you certainly can't protect her from me.”
“I don't need the law to destroy you, Sterling,” Adrian said softly. “I have a city full of monsters who owe me favors. Try taking her, and none of you leave this block alive.”
Julian stared at Adrian for three long, suffocating seconds. He recognized the look in the younger man’s eyes—it was the look of a predator who had found something he was willing to die for.
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Julian slowly raised his hand, signaling his men to hold. “Forty-eight hours, Kane. At midnight on Thursday, the probate court signs the Sterling trust over to me permanently. You have two days to prove she’s sane, legally competent, and capable of claiming her inheritance. Look at her—she’s a traumatized, mute vagrant. No judge in New York will hand her a multi-billion-dollar empire.”
Julian turned on his heel and walked out into the falling snow, his guards following close behind.
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