“She is stable now,” he reported. “Your daughter was placed into an induced coma by an external agent. Her vital signs were misread. This boy kept her alive by speaking up.”
Preston turned toward Jace with disbelief and gratitude.
“Tell me more about the man you saw,” Preston said.
Jace nodded. “He wore a dark coat. He had a scar near his eyebrow. He pushed her into a silver van. I memorized the license number. I do that to stay alive.”
Preston held his breath. “What was the number.”
Jace repeated it clearly.
Preston felt the air leave his lungs. He knew that number. It belonged to Morton Keene. His longtime business partner. His adviser. The man who had insisted the funeral must happen quickly to avoid media attention.
The betrayal narrowed his vision. “He did this to gain control of my stake,” Preston murmured. “He wanted me broken.”
The next morning Preston sat at Talia’s bedside. Her face was still but peaceful. Jace waited quietly near the doorway.
“Jace,” Preston said. “Will you help me bring him down.”
Jace nodded without hesitation. “For her. Yes.”