Chapter 8

I ran back to the theater. The control room door was open. Marcus was on the floor, conscious but dazed. Eli’s red hoodie was on the floor. His pendant was gone.

Victor’s men had taken my son.

I didn’t think. I walked into the rotunda. The gala guests were gone. Mrs. Prescott stood near the podium, her face white. Victor Kessler waited beneath the blue dome. Eli stood beside him, held by a man in a dark coat. Eli’s eyes found me. He didn’t cry. He was trying to be brave.

“Eliza,” Victor said. “Or Nora. Which do you prefer?”

“Let him go.”

Victor smiled. “I knew you were alive. I have known for years.”

My stomach turned. “Then why wait?”

“Because you had the clasp.” Victor held up Eli’s pendant. “The original was not on it. You kept it, didn’t you? The night Daniel died, he hid his ledgers in a safe deposit box. The number is inside that clasp. I have been looking for it for five years.”

I stepped closer. Eli’s lip trembled.

“Let him go,” I said. “I’ll give you what you want.”

“You don’t have it.”

“I know where it is.”

Victor looked at Eli. “The boy comes with me until I have it.”

“No.” My voice was steady. “You want the clasp. I want my son. We trade here.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Where is the clasp?”

I thought of the cookbook in my apartment. The tiny silver hinge. The number Daniel had hidden. The proof that could put Victor away.

“The clasp isn’t on the pendant,” I said.

Victor’s smile faded. “Where is it?”

“Somewhere you can’t reach.”

Victor nodded to the man holding Eli. The man pulled Eli toward the glass doors. Eli’s sneakers dragged on the floor.

“Wait,” I said. “I’ll take you to it.”

Victor studied me. “You have five minutes.”