Chapter 1 - The Cold Reality
The wind cut through the canyon of Sixth Avenue like broken glass, rattling the skeleton branches of Bryant Square. Adam Mercer did not wait for the child to argue again. Every second spent debating on the slush-covered pavement shaved degrees from her core body temperature. When he lifted her from the metal bin, she weighed almost nothing—a bundle of sodden wool, sharp collarbones, and hollow breathing.
"Hold on to me," he said, pulling his cashmere coat tightly around her shoulders.
She did not wrap her arms around his neck. Instead, her fists clamped into the lapels of his suit jacket with a desperate, feral grip. Her breath hitched against his throat, smelling faintly of stale bread and cold rain.
Adam turned his back against the gale and marched toward the park bench thirty yards away. The blue plastic shopping bag still fluttered from the armrest, crusted in ice. He reached down and snagged it by the handle with his free hand. Up close, the bench told a grimmer story: the snow was scuffed where small feet had stamped in place trying to stay warm, and beneath the slat lay a waterlogged picture book with half its pages torn away.
"Marcus," Adam barked into his hands-free earpiece, quickening his pace toward the southern curb of 40th Street.
"Sir? You're five minutes out from the dinner at Le Bernardin," his driver replied over the speaker.
"Cancel the reservation. Pull the Mercedes around to the corner of 40th and Sixth immediately. Put the heat on maximum, unlock the rear doors, and call Dr. Rivera on my personal line."
"Sir? Is everything alright?"
"Just do it, Marcus. Now."
Adam reached the curb just as the black sedan slid silently through the sleet, hazard lights amber against the wet asphalt. Marcus stepped out into the freeze, his umbrella already opening, but froze the instant he saw what his employer was carrying.
"Mr. Mercer... is that—"
"Get inside and drive," Adam commanded, ducking into the leather-trimmed interior.
May you like
The warmth of the car hit them like a wall. Adam settled onto the rear bench, keeping the little girl securely wrapped in his coat. In the cabin’s overhead reading light, her condition was worse than he had realized. Her skin was marbled blue-white around her temples. Dirt streaked her hollow cheeks, and her eyelashes were tipped with frozen condensation.
"No police," she whimpered again, her eyelids fluttering as the heat provoked a violent fit of shivering. Her tiny body shook
