The hammer came down three seconds before Millie Brown reached the table.

“Sold.”

Millie stopped so abruptly that the man behind her nearly walked into her.

“Excuse me.”

He muttered something in Norwegian and squeezed past.

Millie didn't move.

Across the crowded auction hall, a thin silver-haired man was already signing papers.

Her father's company logo sat on the folder in front of him.

Not a similar logo.

Not an old version.

The exact same black circle with the tiny blue line through the middle.

Millie's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

“No.”

She pushed through the crowd.

A woman in an expensive cream coat blocked her path.

“Miss, please.”

“Move.”

The woman blinked.

Millie didn't apologize.

She reached the table just as the silver-haired man placed his pen down.

“I need to see that contract.”

The auctioneer looked at her.

“I'm sorry?”

“The contract.”

“Miss, the auction has ended.”

“I know.”

“Then you cannot—”

“That property was not supposed to be sold.”

Silence spread across the little group surrounding the table.

The silver-haired man slowly lifted his head.

His eyes moved over Millie's face.

Then to the folder.

Then back to her.

“You're Albert Brown's daughter.”

It wasn't a question.

Millie swallowed.

“You knew my father?”

The man stood.

“Everybody in business knew Albert.”

“Then you know that warehouse belonged to Brown Technologies.”

“Once.”

“It's still registered under my father's estate.”

A few people exchanged glances.

The auctioneer cleared his throat.

“Miss Brown, perhaps we can discuss this privately.”

“No.”

Millie pulled her tablet from her bag.

“I checked the public registry this morning. The ownership transfer was never completed.”

The auctioneer's face changed.

Just slightly.

Enough.

Millie saw it.

“So,” she said quietly, “who exactly did you just sell it to?”

Nobody answered.

Then someone behind her laughed.

It wasn't a nervous laugh.

It was amused.

Deep.

Male.

Millie turned.

A tall man stood several feet away, one hand in the pocket of a dark suit.

He looked like he belonged in the building.

Unfortunately, that was probably because he owned half of it.

His black hair was neatly pushed back. His expression was calm, almost bored, but his eyes were fixed on her tablet.

A man beside him leaned over and whispered something.

The stranger didn't respond.

He simply looked at Millie.

Then at the auctioneer.

“Continue.”

The auctioneer immediately straightened.

“Mr. Moore.”

Millie's eyebrows rose.

Moore.

She had heard that name more times than she wanted.

Moore Holdings had survived the economic crash when hundreds of Norwegian companies hadn't.

They had bought shipping firms, energy startups, technology companies and struggling properties for almost nothing.

And the man standing in front of her was Adrian Moore.

Thirty years old.

Billionaire.

Lucas Moore's only son.

Millie had spent six months studying the Moore family.

She had never expected to meet one of them over a disputed warehouse.

Adrian looked at her tablet again.

“You're interrupting an auction.”

“Your auction.”

“Technically, yes.”

“Then technically, you should know the sale is illegal.”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“That's a serious accusation.”

“So is selling someone's property without permission.”

“You said it's registered under your father's estate.”

“It is.”

“And you have documents proving that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Millie paused.

That wasn't the response she'd expected.

Adrian nodded toward her tablet.

“Show me.”

She stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because if you're right, I'll stop the sale.”

“And if I'm wrong?”

“Then you owe everyone here an apology.”

Millie folded her arms.

“Fine.”

She stepped closer.

Adrian moved aside.

The people around them began whispering.

Millie opened the registry records and turned the screen toward him.

“Here.”

Adrian studied the document.

His expression changed.

Not dramatically.

His jaw simply tightened.

His eyes moved down the page again.

Then he looked at the auctioneer.

“Who authorized this sale?”

The man swallowed.

“Mr. Moore, the paperwork came through your father's office.”

Adrian went still.

“Your office?”

“Yes.”

“Who signed it?”

The auctioneer hesitated.

“Your father.”

Millie's attention snapped toward Adrian.

For the first time, something hard entered his expression.

“My father signed this?”

“Yes.”

Adrian held out his hand.

“Give me the file.”

The auctioneer handed it over.

Adrian opened the folder.

He read the first page.

Then the second.

Millie watched his eyes move across the document.

“What?”

He didn't answer.

“Mr. Moore?”

Adrian closed the file.

“This sale is cancelled.”

The room erupted.

“But—”

“I said cancelled.”

The auctioneer hurried to collect the paperwork.

The silver-haired buyer protested.

“This is ridiculous. I've already paid.”

“You'll receive a refund.”

“Your father approved—”

“My father isn't standing here.”

The man's mouth shut.

Adrian handed the folder to Alex, who had appeared beside him.

“Find out who prepared these documents.”

Alex nodded.

“Immediately?”

“Immediately.”

Millie watched Adrian walk away.

She should have been satisfied.

Instead, something bothered her.

He hadn't looked surprised that her father's company had been involved.

He had looked surprised by something else.

She followed him.

“Adrian.”

He stopped.

He turned slowly.

“Do we know each other?”

“No.”

“Then why are you following me?”

“Because you just cancelled a sale involving my family.”

“I corrected a mistake.”

“You think it was a mistake?”

Adrian studied her.

“No.”

That answer landed harder than she expected.

“Then what was it?”

“I don't know yet.”

He started walking again.

Millie followed.

“Who is Alex?”

“My assistant.”

“Is he good?”

Adrian glanced at her.

“Very.”

“Can he find old corporate records?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Adrian stopped again.

“You're not asking me for permission, are you?”

“No.”

“I noticed.”

Millie smiled.

“I'll need those records.”

“You'll need a lawyer.”

“I have one.”

“Then use him.”

“He charges too much.”

“That's what lawyers do.”

Millie looked at his expensive watch.

“And billionaires don't?”

Adrian actually laughed.

It was quick.

Unexpected.

He shook his head and walked toward the exit.

Millie watched him disappear through the glass doors.

She looked down at her tablet.

The registry page was still open.

Brown Technologies.

Owner: Estate of Albert Brown.

She touched the screen.

Her father's name had been there for years.

She remembered the day she had received the news.

The phone call.

The silence afterward.

Her aunt Stephany standing in the kitchen, holding a cup that had gone cold.

Nobody had known what to say to a twelve-year-old girl whose parents weren't coming home.

The official report had called it an accident.

A winter road.

Poor visibility.

Mechanical failure.

Case closed.

Millie had never believed it.

Not once.

She slid the tablet back into her bag.

“Millie!”

She turned.

Enola came running toward her, nearly slipping on the polished floor.

“You disappeared!”

“I was busy.”

“You were supposed to meet me at the entrance.”

“I know.”

Enola looked toward the doors.

“Was that Adrian Moore?”

“Yes.”

“You just spoke to Adrian Moore?”

“Yes.”

“You argued with Adrian Moore?”

“Yes.”

Enola stared at her.

“Do you have a death wish?”

Millie laughed.

“No.”

“Then why do you look like you're about to start a war?”

Millie adjusted her bag.

“Because I think I found where my parents' story starts.”

Enola's smile vanished.

“You're serious.”

“I've never been more serious.”

Outside, Oslo's winter air hit them hard.

The city looked different from the countryside Millie had grown used to.

Taller.

Louder.

Faster.

Everywhere she looked, glass buildings reflected the gray afternoon sky.

Economic recovery had changed Norway, but not everyone had recovered.

Small businesses still disappeared every month.

Big corporations bought what remained.

Millie had spent years watching from a distance.

Now she was back.

And she intended to find out why her parents had died.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She answered.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello?”

A man's breathing came through the speaker.

Then a voice.

Low.

“You should leave Oslo.”

Millie's steps stopped.

Enola turned.

“Who is this?”

The caller hung up.

Millie stared at the screen.

Enola came closer.

“What happened?”

“Someone just told me to leave.”

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

Her phone buzzed again.

A message appeared.

STOP LOOKING INTO BROWN TECHNOLOGIES.

Millie stared at it.

Then another message arrived.

YOUR PARENTS ARE DEAD FOR A REASON.

Her fingers went cold around the phone.

Enola read the message over her shoulder.

“Millie…”

A black car rolled slowly past them.

The rear window lowered.

A man's hand appeared.

Millie barely had time to react before Enola grabbed her arm and pulled her backward as the car suddenly accelerated toward them.

And inside the speeding car, someone was holding a photograph of Millie's parents.