Chase Costello slept for less than two hours.
It wasn't fear that kept him awake.
Fear was loud, obvious.
This was quieter. A steady awareness, like something ticking just behind his thoughts.
By morning, the city looked different.
Sharper. Less forgiving.
He stood in the kitchen of his penthouse, barefoot on cold tile, staring at a cup of coffee he hadn't touched. His phone lay beside it.
Silent.
That silence felt intentional.
The woman hadn't called back.
He hadn't expected her to.
Trust didn't come easily when your last name opened doors and graves with the same efficiency.
Chase checked the time, then opened his laptop. He didn't log into his personal accounts. He used one of his father's old access points—the kind that never showed up on official ledgers. The screen filled with numbers, holdings, shell companies layered inside other shell companies.
The Costello empire.
He scrolled past it all.
He wasn't looking for money.
He was looking for movement.
There it was.
A flagged inquiry.
Small.
Almost polite.
A private investigator firm Chase recognized—not because they were famous, but because they were discreet. The kind hired when someone wanted answers without fingerprints.
The client name was redacted.
The subject wasn't.
Minor male.
Age: 7.
Guardian: undisclosed.
Chase exhaled slowly.
"So it starts," he murmured.
His phone rang.
This time, it wasn't an unknown number.
Luca Romano.
Chase let it ring once more than necessary before answering.
"You're up early."
"People like us don't sleep when power changes hands," Luca replied.
"They circle."
Chase leaned against the counter. "And you called to check my pulse?"
"I called to offer advice."
"That's new."
A pause. Luca chose his words carefully. "There are rumors."
"About me?" Chase asked.
"About you having something to lose."
Chase's jaw tightened.
"Funny. I was just thinking the same about you."
Luca chuckled softly.
"You're quicker than your father. That will help you. Or kill you."
"Get to the point."
"The board wants reassurance," Luca said. "Stability. Continuity. They don't like surprises."
Chase glanced at the laptop screen again. The inquiry timestamp blinked back at him.
"Neither do I," he said. "So imagine my disappointment."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Luca spoke, slower now.
"If there is a loose end, Chase, you should tie it. Before someone else does."
Chase straightened. "Is that advice or a threat?"
"Yes."
The call ended.
By noon, Chase was in his car, moving without destination, letting the city swallow him.
He needed noise. Motion. Something to drown out the sense that the walls were inching closer.
His phone buzzed again.
'Unknown number.'
He answered immediately. "Talk to me."
"They followed me today," the woman said.
No calm this time. No practiced steadiness. Just truth.
"I don't think they know yet. But they're close."
Chase's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Did you see their faces?"
"No. Just the car. Same one, twice."
"Listen carefully," he said.
"You need to move. Today."
"I can't," she replied. "The boy—he's in school. I can't just—"
"They won't wait for your schedule," Chase cut in, then softened his voice.
"I'll handle it."
A breath. Shaky. "How?"
"I'll take the attention," he said.
"That's what my name is good for."
Another pause. Then, quietly, "You didn't know about him, did you?"
Chase swallowed. "No."
"I wondered," she said. "You sound… angry. But not cruel."
Chase didn't answer.
She continued, "He asks about his father sometimes."
The words landed harder than any threat.
"I'm not asking you to be anything," she said quickly.
"Just—don't let them turn him into leverage."
Chase closed his eyes at a red light.
"That already happened," he said.
"The moment he was born."
The line went dead.
That night, Chase stood alone in his office again, city lights reflecting off the glass like fractures. He pulled his father's letter from the drawer and read it one last time.
Protect him—or remove him.
Chase folded the paper carefully, then tore it in half.
"No," he said aloud.
"That's where you're wrong."
He picked up his phone and dialed a number he hadn't used in years.
"I need a team," he said when the line connected.
"Quiet. Loyal. And off the books."
A pause.
"Yes," Chase continued. "It's family."
He ended the call and looked out at the city that had already begun to move against him.
Somewhere in it was a child who shared his blood.
And Chase Costello understood something then—clearly, finally.
This wasn't about inheritance.
It was about what survived.
And what never did.