HE FOUND HIS DAUGHTER EATING FROM A DOG BOWL... THEN ONE VIDEO DESTROYED HIS FIANCÉE'S ENTIRE LIFE

ADX Florence was the most secure federal supermax prison in the United States. It was a concrete tomb designed for terrorists, cartel bosses, and the worst traitors in American history.

Marcus sat in a sterile, windowless visitation room, separated by three inches of bulletproof acrylic glass. The fluorescent lights hummed with a maddening, sterile buzz.

The heavy steel door on the opposite side clanked open. Two heavily armed guards escorted Cassandra Montgomery into the room.

Marcus felt absolutely nothing as he looked at her. The glamorous, terrifying woman who had once haunted his home was gone. Cassandra was gaunt. Her blonde hair had lost its shine, chopped short and uneven. Her skin was sallow, devoid of the expensive serums and sunlight she once craved. She wore a heavy beige jumpsuit, her wrists and ankles bound in thick steel chains.

She shuffled to the metal stool and sat down. When she looked up and saw Marcus, a flicker of her old malice sparked in her hollow eyes.

"Marcus," she croaked, her voice raspy from disuse. She picked up the plastic telephone receiver. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you finally realize how boring your life is without me?"

Marcus picked up his receiver. "Your trial was thorough, Cassandra. But it seems you left out one minor detail."

Cassandra’s cracked lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. "Ah. You found the Trojan."

Marcus didn't blink. "Who is The Architect?"

Cassandra leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the glass. "You took everything from me. My money. My freedom. My life. And now you come crawling to my cell asking for help? Why on earth would I give you the name?"

"Because if you do, I will authorize a transfer," Marcus lied smoothly. "I have the ear of the Attorney General. Give me the name, and I’ll have you moved from supermax to a minimum-security facility in California. You’ll see the sun again. You’ll have a window."

Cassandra closed her eyes, the desperation leaking through her hardened facade. The thought of sunlight was a drug she couldn't resist. But she was still a viper.

"The Architect isn't a Russian thug, Marcus," Cassandra whispered, opening her eyes. "He’s a ghost. He funded Viktor's father. He embedded himself in the Seattle tech scene thirty years ago. He is the one who ordered me to find Elena’s ledger. He’s the one who hired me to seduce you."

"A name, Cassandra," Marcus demanded.

She smiled, a bitter, triumphant sneer. "You already know him, Marcus. He was at our engagement party. He gave a lovely toast."

Marcus’s blood ran cold. He ran through the faces of the people at that party. The elite. The board members.

"Richard," Marcus breathed.

Richard Sterling. The Chairman of the Vale Tech Board. Marcus’s oldest mentor. The man who had loaned Marcus the initial seed money to start his company twenty years ago.

"He built you, Marcus," Cassandra laughed, a dry, wheezing sound. "And in forty-eight hours, he is going to destroy you. Enjoy being poor."

Marcus stood up, hanging the receiver on the wall.

"Marcus! Wait!" Cassandra yelled through the glass, her chains rattling as she slammed her fists against the acrylic. "The deal! You promised me California! You promised me the sun!"

Marcus leaned down, his face inches from the glass. He didn't use the phone. He spoke loudly enough for her to hear through the speaker grate.