Chapter 1 - THE MAN WHO OWNED MANHATTAN
“She lost her job because she fed me,” Henry said. “So what are you going to do about it?”
The street seemed to go silent.
Even the traffic noise felt farther away.
I stood beside my delivery bike with my helmet still hanging from one hand, staring at Ethan Prescott.
Up close, he looked nothing like the billionaire I had seen in magazine covers.
Those photographs always showed him surrounded by investors, politicians, celebrities, and models wearing diamonds.
This man looked exhausted.
His navy overcoat was perfectly tailored, but his tie was loose. His dark hair was windblown. And his eyes weren't on me.
They were on his father.
“Dad,” he said quietly, “what happened?”
Henry pointed toward the bakery.
“That man happened.”
Ethan's jaw tightened.
The bakery owner suddenly stepped outside.
“Mr. Prescott, sir, I didn't know—”
“You didn't know what?”
The owner's face drained.
“That he was my father?”
Nobody spoke.
Henry took another sip of his coffee.
“I told him my son would pay.”
The owner swallowed.
“I thought he was lying.”
Ethan slowly turned toward him.
“You shoved him.”
“I barely touched him.”
“You shoved him.”
The owner's mouth opened.
No words came out.
One of the men who had arrived with Ethan stepped forward and quietly said something into his ear.
Ethan nodded.
“Cancel every Prescott property contract with this bakery's supplier.”
The owner nearly stumbled.
“Sir, please.”
“And have legal review the building lease.”
“Mr. Prescott—”
“Not because you refused my father free bread.”
Ethan's voice became frighteningly calm.
“Because you put your hands on an elderly man.”
I watched the owner disappear back inside.
Then Ethan turned toward me.
His expression changed.
“Madison Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For my father needing a stranger to protect him.”
Henry chuckled.
“Don't apologize. Thank her.”
Ethan looked at him.
“I am.”
“No. You're thinking about how to solve the problem.”
Ethan frowned.
Henry pointed at me.
“She doesn't need your money.”
I immediately said, “Actually, I could use my job back.”
Both men looked at me.
I suddenly wished I had kept my mouth shut.
Ethan's eyebrows rose.
“What happened?”
“My delivery account suspended me.”
“Why?”
“Late delivery.”
“Why were you late?”
“Because I stopped for your father.”
Henry smiled.
Ethan's expression hardened.
“Who suspended you?”
I gave him the name of the company.
He took out his phone.
“Don't.”
I surprised myself by grabbing his wrist.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
I pulled away immediately.
“I'm sorry.”
“No.”
His voice was softer.
“You're right.”
He put the phone away.
“You don't want me fixing everything.”
“I don't want anyone buying my way out of my problems.”
Henry smiled.
“Good.”
Ethan looked at him.
“You're enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
I almost smiled.
Then Ethan's phone rang.
He answered.
“What?”
A pause.
His face changed.
“Are you certain?”
Another pause.
“Don't touch anything. I'll be there in ten minutes.”
He hung up.
Henry noticed immediately.
“What?”
“Someone accessed the Prescott Foundation account.”
Henry's smile disappeared.
“How much?”
“Thirty-two million.”
My stomach tightened.
Ethan looked at me.
Then at Henry.
“This isn't random.”
“What does that mean?”
Ethan hesitated.
“It means someone inside the company is stealing from us.”
Henry stood.
For the first time that morning, he looked less like a homeless man and more like someone who had once commanded entire rooms.
“Then we have a problem.”
Ethan nodded.
“A serious one.”
I looked between them.
I should have left.
This wasn't my world.
I was a broke delivery rider who had just spent eighteen dollars on bread.
They were billionaires.
Whatever was happening inside Prescott Global had nothing to do with me.
I reached for my bike.
“Thank you for everything, but I should go.”
Henry caught my hand.
“Madison.”
I stopped.
“You helped me when you thought I had nothing.”
His eyes were strangely serious.
“Don't disappear just because you discovered I have something.”
I didn't know what to say.
Then Ethan stepped closer.
“My father is right.”
He pulled a business card from his coat.
“If you ever need help, call me.”
I stared at the card.
“Why?”
“Because I owe you.”
I took it.
But before I could answer, Henry suddenly looked past me.
His face went white.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
Henry pointed across the street.
A black SUV was parked there.
Its engine was running.
“That's the same vehicle I saw yesterday.”
Ethan's entire posture changed.
“Dad, get in the car.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
I looked toward the SUV.
The driver's window was tinted.
Then it lowered.
A man inside lifted a camera.
Flash.
He photographed me.
Another flash.
Ethan stepped in front of me.
The SUV sped away.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Ethan didn't answer.
Henry did.
“Someone who wants my son to believe I'm still worth killing.”
My blood went cold.
Ethan grabbed his father's shoulder.
“Dad.”
Henry looked at him.
“I told you this would happen.”
“What would happen?”
Henry's eyes met mine.
“The moment you helped me, sweetheart…”
He lowered his voice.
“…you became part of a war you don't understand.”
And then Ethan looked at me with something that frightened me more than the SUV.
Fear.
May you like
Not for himself.
For me.
