Chapter 4

I slipped into the dimly lit café on 53rd Street, my heart pounding against my ribs. The hood of my coat remained pulled low over my face as I scanned the room. In the far corner, partially hidden by a large potted plant, sat Gerald Hoffman—my family's attorney for three generations and perhaps the only person in New York who wasn't in Ryan's pocket.

He rose slightly as I approached, his kind eyes crinkling with concern. "Sarah," he whispered, "you look..."

"Terrible, I know," I finished for him, sliding into the booth. The waitress approached, but I waved her away.…