Ami hit the cold, hard concrete of the New York sidewalk. The security guards had literally tossed her out of the glass doors.
She sat there for a moment, her palms scraped and stinging. Pedestrians walking by shot her looks of pity or disgust. She quickly pulled the collar of her trench coat up to hide her face, scrambled to her feet, and ran.
She ducked into a cheap, dingy coffee shop on the corner. The air smelled like burnt beans. She ordered the cheapest black coffee just to have something warm to hold against her freezing, shaking fingers.
She sat in the darkest booth in the back. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She looked at the names of the wealthy heirs and family friends who used to constantly beg for her attention.
She dialed the number of her ex-boyfriend, Clemens Patrick. He answered on the third ring, his tone impatient and dismissive.
The second Ami mentioned needing a cash flow bridge, Clemens cut her off. He claimed his family trust fund had just been frozen and quickly hung up the phone.
Ami swallowed the lump in her throat. She refused to give up. She dialed five more numbers. Every single one of them either rejected her call or sent her straight to voicemail.
Outside the dirty window, the sky turned gray and a cold drizzle began to fall. Ami's heart sank to the absolute bottom of her chest. The cold reality of the world hit her hard.
Suddenly, her phone screen lit up. It was a text message from an unknown number.
Ami opened it. Her blood ran cold. It was a photo of her mother, Else Odom, walking down the street, secretly followed by three large men in black jackets.
Ami clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the scream from ripping out of her throat. Her fingers shook violently as she dialed her mother's number.
The phone rang for a long time. Finally, Else answered. Her voice sounded incredibly tired and aged, lacking its usual sharp edge.
"Mom, where are you?" Ami gasped.
"They're here, Ami," Else said, her voice trembling. "The loan sharks. They've surrounded the perimeter of the Long Island estate."
"Call the police! I'm calling 911 right now!" Ami cried, tears finally spilling over her lashes.
"No," Else let out a bitter, broken laugh. "These people have umbrellas in the police department and in politics. The cops won't come."
Else suddenly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "Listen to me. Go back to your apartment right now. Get your passport. I've already arranged a ticket for you to Switzerland."
"No! I am not leaving you!" Ami shouted into the phone, ignoring the stares of the people in the coffee shop. "I am not leaving you alone in New York to face the federal charges and the mob!"
Else choked back a sob. "I made a mistake, Ami. A terrible investment decision years ago. That's what caused this hostile takeover."
Ami's mind raced. She remembered the news reports over the past few weeks. Cleveland Industrial was being shorted by a mysterious shell company.
Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. She realized this wasn't just bad business. This was a premeditated, malicious slaughter. Normal borrowing would never fill this bottomless pit.
Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass erupted through the phone speaker, followed by a man's angry, violent shout.
Else screamed. The line went dead. The dial tone buzzed in Ami's ear like a flatline.
Ami shot up from the booth. Her knee slammed into the table, knocking over her coffee cup. The scalding black liquid spilled all over the back of her hand, but she didn't even feel the burn.
She sprinted out of the coffee shop and into the freezing rain. She stood on the edge of the curb, frantically waving her arms to hail a cab.
A yellow taxi screeched to a halt. She threw open the door, jumped into the back seat, and shouted the address of her family's Long Island estate to the driver.
Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely unlock her tablet. She opened the browser and frantically searched for any information on Jerad Kidd's private schedule.
Every article, every press release showed a flawless, impenetrable public itinerary. There was no official way to get near him.
Desperation clawed at her throat. Then, a name flashed in her mind. Silas Chandler. He was one of her students, a rich kid who constantly bragged about hanging out in Jerad's outer social circles.
She dialed Silas's number. When he answered, she didn't politely ask. She used his failing final grade as leverage, half-threatening and half-begging him to find out where Jerad was tonight.
Silas hesitated for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, he gave in. He told her Jerad was going to an underground street racing track in Queens tonight.
Ami lowered the tablet. She stared out the window at the blurry, rain-streaked highway. The panic in her eyes slowly hardened into something cold and absolute. She was going to risk her life tonight.
