CHAPTER 1: Four Headlights at Sundown

Noah Marlow found the black sedan under the farthest parking lamp, where the asphalt still held the day's heat and the glass tower behind it looked colder than the sky.
He had not seen the car in three years. Everett Marlow had driven it himself, no chauffeur, no tinted parade of assistants, just a tired founder with coffee in the cup holder and warehouse dust on his cuffs.
Now Adrienne Marlow stood beside the open passenger door in a black coat cut like a courtroom argument. Her hand rested on a leather purse as if the whole company could fit inside it.
Julian Cross stood behind her in a navy suit, one palm raised in the practiced gesture of a man paid to make theft sound reasonable.
Noah stopped near the hood. His denim jacket looked wrong against their polished shoes. That was the first thing Adrienne smiled at.
"You came all this way for a car?" she asked.
Noah looked at the sedan, then at the old brass key in his hand.
"No," he said. "I came because Dad told me you would try to leave in it."