Somewhere between persuading my father not to kill Carlos and coordinating the stakeout mission of the gang’s warehouse, I’d come up with a plausible story. Hector had died of a stroke. William, then, had to hop on the jet and fly to New York to salvage a merger orchestrated by Hector, which might, in the aftermath of his death, fall through. Somewhere between Miami and that meeting late this afternoon, William would suffer a coronary, brought on by his weight, jetlag, grief and worry over the merger. Awkward, but the best I could manage, running on stress and caffeine. So by tonight, the world could know that the Cortez Corporation had suffered a horrible tragedy, and would close operations temporarily to mourn. For today, though, it was all up to me.

Paige came with me back to headquarters. Once there, I moved on autopilot, my brain spewing commands, my body obeying, no time to pause much less think.

Yes, it’s a horrible shock. Yes, my father is well, thank you.

No, I’m sorry, but I really can’t look at that. No, I’m sorry, but I won’t be at that meeting. No, I’m sorry, I don’t know who’s in charge of the special dispensations department now, but I will find out.

We met the guard I’d requested for Paige. I told him to take her to the research rooms, assign someone to guide her through the system, then stay with her until I joined them.

I said good-bye to Paige. Tried to ignore the worried look in her eyes. Kissed her forehead. Saw her onto the elevator. Caught the next one going down. Pushed “basement” for the morgue.

“Lucas!”

The use of my given name yanked me out of automode, and I grabbed the elevator door before it shut. A young man in a suit was jogging across the lobby. Everyone had turned to stare, but no one tried to stop him. His face was flushed from running, and his shoulder-length blond hair, usually neatly tied in a conservative ponytail, hung around his face.

“Sir?” Griffin said.

I raised my hand, saying it was fine. I let the young man onto the elevator and pushed the basement button again. He panted, his eyes bright from exertion, big and impossibly blue. The trademark Nast eyes. Savannah’s eyes.

“Sean.”

He clapped me on the shoulder. Griffin tensed.

“I’m so sorry, Lucas. I know you weren’t close, but I’m sorry. How’s your dad doing?”

“All right.”

“And—” He turned to Griffin. “Your partner, right? Troy?”

“He’s recovering, thank you, sir.” Griffin’s response was polite, but had a brittle edge. Nothing against Sean personally, but rather, who he was and what his appearance portended.

“Your grandfather is here, I take it,” I said. “And your uncles.”

“Yeah. I just…I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Because they aren’t here to pay their respects.”