Monday morning rush hour forced traffic to a standstill and Yael tapped her foot on the floor of the cab impatiently. She eyed the bright coral sandals and smirked. Not quite corporate material, but she didn't care. She sighed as they sat through yet another red light and leaned her head against the seat. Meeting Haustin's kids on Saturday had been monumental, as well as emotionally exhausting, and despite the initial awkwardness, she considered it a success. Both Luna and Miles were bright, fun teenagers, yet they were broken, too. The whole time, they seemed to be waiting for their father to disappoint them, and she caught Haustin struggling with falling into the darkness more than once.

Once the cab finally made it to Malkah Enterprises, Yael stepped from the backseat and wound her way through the crowded sidewalk, smoothing the wrinkles from her dressy capris. She was halfway across the vast lobby when she caught sight of Casey outside, nose to nose in an intense argument, and her steps faltered. The combatant was an almost identical copy of Casey, except for the gray hair standing at haphazard angles. Although they shared the same tall athletic build, the older man seemed shrunken, hunched in on himself.

It must be Casey's father.

Ducking behind a marble column, she monitored them, trying not to snoop, but she hated the dejected expression Casey wore. No matter what he said, his father didn't seem to agree, gesturing wildly with his arms and pacing like a panther, tossing glares in the general direction of the building. Finally, he grabbed Casey by his suit jacket, yelling with such force, Yael saw spittle fly. Heart pounding in her chest, she readied herself to break up the fight, startled by her protectiveness, but Casey knocked the man's hands away and stalked inside.

Gauging the murderous glower on Casey's face, Yael decided to head him off before he passed through security. She trotted over and placed herself in his path.

"Come with me." She took him by the elbow and steered him to a quiet sitting area partly hidden by potted plants.

"I don't have time for this, Yael," he argued but sank into an upholstered bench beside her, his body stiff with tension.

"Well, you're going to make time. Take a minute to calm down." She watched him struggle internally for half a beat before he sucked in a deep breath and his shoulders slumped. "Was that your dad?"

"Charming man."

"Must run in the family."

He ignored her quip and exploded, "The man is impossible. He can't get his shit together and somehow it's my fault. He has no right to lay his crap at my feet and expect me to take care of it. I don't know him anymore!"

"Has he always been so," she searched for the word, "difficult?"

"No." He deflated, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Believe it or not, he was a great dad. I worked for him through high school and college doing construction. He started making a name for himself, increased the size of his crew to keep up with the expansion. You know how it is. To get better jobs, better equipment, you have to spend money. He mortgaged himself to the hilt, but he kept landing bigger projects." He sighed. "Then the market took a nosedive, putting him upside down on the loans. No one was building, and he got in trouble, lost his business and nearly the house."

"Your childhood home?"

He nodded, his devastated expression urging her to hold him close, a temptation she ignored. "I bailed him out, twice, because of Mom. Put the house in my name so he couldn't do it a third time. Now he thinks I should save him again."

"That's tough." She rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry, Casey."

"Against my better judgment, I did give him a loan after the house fiasco, but he lost it, don't ask me how. Fool me once and all that. He wants money, a job... who knows. This isn't the first time he's come here, drunk, and it's embarrassing. He says he took out a big chunk of cash and can't pay it back. In his situation, I doubt a bank would've given it to him. I have a terrible feeling he's gotten in deep with bad people." She watched him swallow thickly, his jaw clenching. "I can't deal with his messes right now."

"Then don't." Casey shot her a look of disbelief. "What I mean is, it sounds like no matter what you do, it isn't enough. Ignore him, and he shows up belligerent. Help him, and you only enable his poor decisions. What's left?"

"I don't know. Stick him in rehab."

"Is his drinking that bad?"

"For the past year, every time I see him the smell is there, the bloodshot eyes, slurred words. Mom says he is never home anymore either and when he is, she doesn't recognize him."

"She won't leave?"

"No. Doesn't believe in it. Still thinks he can be saved."

"And he can. Trust me." She wanted to erase the frown lines from his handsome face. "Family sucks."

"Says the woman who came from one of the best families in New York."

"It may seem that way from the outside, but we're far from perfect. Especially me."

"That's up for debate." He winked. "You can't deny your roots, though."

"Roots can rot." She held up a hand to stop the conversation from going somewhere dark. "My imperfections aside, you have met Miriam, right? Do you know she pulled financials on the family of the first boy I ever brought home? Who does that to a fifteen-year-old? And Dad, well, he was big into betting on sports and it got out of hand. It was the driving force behind his and Mom's separation and near-divorce." Yael rolled her eyes, brushing at a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. "Don't get me started on Mom. She was a brilliant marketing guru but as unorganized as they came. Clutter everywhere, dozens of abandoned projects around the house, borderline hoarder. Life was supposed to be messy, she always said."

"I like that theory. Did she and Miriam get along?"

"Very much. An odd pair, but Miriam treated Mom like a daughter. Even took her side in the separation. Those two shared a lot of secrets and laughs." Yael grinned. "Do you know Miriam is funnier now than I remember?"

"In the beginning, it was hard to tell if she was joking or not. Miriam terrified me." He lifted his lips in a soft smile, which somehow emphasized the dark circles under his eyes.

"I suspect she enjoys it."

"You're probably right." He sighed. "Thanks for helping me calm down, Yael."

"Anytime. Other than the morning drama with your dad, how was the rest of your weekend?"

"The detective on our case called me last night to give me the official word about the Brooklyn fire being arson—accelerants, boot prints, and other evidence. As usual, he couldn't tell me more. Not yet." He ground his palms into his eyes, rubbing furiously. "This whole 'inside job' crap makes me want to lock everyone in a room and yell until someone confesses."

"Me too. Who could be doing this? And why would one of our own betray us? Worse, what's next? It's not as if we can shut down all our construction sites." Rage built, a hot, fiery burn that spread into her limbs. This coward, this faceless stranger, had it in for her family. Granted, it seemed directed at Malkah Enterprises itself, but the company carried her mother and father's blood, sweat, and tears.

"I've hired extra security for our projects, for the time being. The NYPD is taking it a lot more seriously since the fire has been labeled arson. They assure me they're working on it, but not fast enough for my liking." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and hung his head. "Now I get to spend all morning on the phone with the board. I figure it's only fair they have the exact details I do."

"Smart. I'm sure they'll appreciate you keeping them in the loop. What does Peter say?" she asked.

"Haven't been able to get hold of him," Casey grumbled, the tidbit not surprising Yael one bit.

She voiced another fear she'd entertained since the crane accident. "What if it's because of me?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He straightened and set his stunned expression on her.

"Don't you find it interesting how all this started right after I returned? Maybe someone doesn't want an addict working here, or they're hoping to run me off. Use me as a scapegoat." She stared at her hands and tried to ignore the disgrace burning in her chest.

"Don't be stupid." She snapped her head around to glare at him. "I'm serious. Don't go there. Even if it were true, which I'm certain it isn't, those assholes are sadly mistaken. It's a coincidence."

"Logic tells me you're right. The paranoia comes from a different place."

He studied her for a long time before letting another chuckle loose. "We're a fine pair. The outsider and the misfit."

"Which one is which?" she asked with a slight grin.

"It's a mystery. Either way, we should get new nameplates with those titles on them."

"That'd be pretty awesome. Give the gossipers more fuel."

A couple minutes of companionable silence passed and Yael found herself not wanting to leave Casey. He sighed once more, long and deep.

"I hate dragging my heels about starting work. I used to love this job. After Miriam named me as her successor, I had passion. I spent so much time here, making detailed notes of all my brilliant ideas, ways to change things and grow. Lately, though, it's been a chore to get my ass in here, paranoid the entire world thinks I'm a failure. That's how I feel, like I've let everyone down. I'm waiting for the next disaster. It's coming. I'd put money on it."

"Nonsense. Again, you've met Miriam, right? Do you think she'd let you run amok in her company if you didn't have the skills she required? I bet you a million bucks she'd say cancer be damned and haul herself in here if she didn't trust you were doing a good job."

"You have a point."

"Of course I do."

"Smug?"

"History. I know about negativity. If you let it in, it takes over." She knew better than most how it became a noxious weed that dug deep and took root. "Don't let it change who you are, Casey."

He gazed at her intensely, causing her pulse to spike and her breathing to grow shallow. Then Casey yawned, killing the moment, and stood. When he helped her to her feet, he kept her fingers linked with his and gave a squeeze. "Thank you. I needed a friend today."

Releasing his hold on her, they walked towards the elevator and she couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips the entire ride. The outsider and the misfit—how appallingly appropriate. Her good mood lasted until the receptionist flagged her down.

"Sorry, Miss Malkah, but there's a detective waiting for you in your office."

Yael's stomach plummeted, and she continued woodenly down the hall. Pausing next to the door, she drew a bracing breath and attempted to settle her rampant thoughts.

"Why would they want to talk to you?" Casey wondered aloud, echoing her own question.

"For the life of me, I don't know."

Anxiety locked her into place, and she gnawed on her lip. Casey entered her field of version, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Breathe," he ordered.

She did what he said, sucking in a lungful of air, and nodded.

"Probably routine questions. Nothing more," Casey continued, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Here's your opportunity to skewer me. I know you've been imagining many colorful ways to make me suffer since our first meeting."

That made her smile. "True."

"Come find me after. I'm curious to know what they want with you."

"Okay." She felt his gaze on her as she walked away, focusing on the surprise visitor. Feeling as Zen as possible in the situation, she stepped into her office. The detective, a thin wiry man in his mid-forties, had already made himself at home in one of her chairs but rose when she entered.

"Miss Malkah, good morning. I'm Detective Schulte." Yael reached for his extended hand and shook it firmly. "I apologize for showing up so early on a Monday."

"Oh, you're fine," she said, skirting her desk. He waited for her to take a seat before doing the same. "I'm the one running a little behind today." Fighting the butterflies in her stomach, Yael commanded herself not to fidget. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm the lead investigator on the incidents at your work sites. I just have a few questions for you."

"Fire away."

He reached into his blazer and pulled out a small notebook. "You were initially with Casey Castañeda the day of the accident, correct?"

"Yes, but only for a couple minutes. I left."

"Why? I mean, it is your name on the building."

Yael frowned, uncertain what to tell the man, then opted to be completely honest. "I had a slight panic attack. I don't do well around crumbling buildings. Not sure how much you know about my past, but I was at Ground Zero... It brought back some rather intimidating memories."

"I was there too." They shared a brief moment of understanding before the detective cleared his throat. "I take it that means none of the details stood out to you?"

Picturing the scene, she thought back to the crane, lying there crumpled, the near miss of the bank. "Other than the fact it could have been a million times worse, no."

"It does seem convenient that the machine fell straight down."

Unsure how to answer, Yael simply nodded.

"You've been back at Malkah Enterprises Enterprises for a month?"

"A little under. About three weeks and two days."

"You have an arrest record."

"Is that a question?"

"Merely an observation. Since your return, have you come across any disgruntled employees? Anyone who may have beef with your family? Or the company?"

"No. Everyone has been wonderful. Better than I built it up in my head."

"And why's that?"

"I have an arrest record," she repeated his earlier statement. "The last nine years haven't been the prettiest for me. You know how gossip can spread like wildfire."

"So you were afraid there would be opposition to an ex-drug addict working for such a high-profile enterprise?"

"To put it plainly, yes." She sighed. "But as far as I know, everyone's been supportive. At least to my face."

Detective Schulte nodded again while writing in his tiny notebook, and she tried not to tap her fingers on her desk. Cops. They had such impressive poker faces, an ability she wished for when the officer's gaze returned to her.

"Tell me about Peter Fillini."

She jerked. "What about him?"

"You've known him since you were a child, correct?"

"I have." Yael pursed her lips, unsure where he was going. "He was my father's best friend and an uncle to me."

"Have you noticed anything different with him since you've returned?"

Confusion set in, but under it, a layer of unease manifested. She shifted in her seat, wishing she had a better answer.

"Everyone changes over the course of nearly a decade, Detective. That being said, he has a short temper, something I didn't notice before, but perhaps it's always been there. The Peter I see now is troubled, which saddens me because I remember him being jolly and positive. Nothing got him down."

"He's also broke, in the middle of a nasty separation, and has vocally questioned the integrity and leadership of Malkah Enterprises' CEO, Casey Castañeda."

The full implication washed over her, and she went with her gut instinct—to protect. "You think Peter could be responsible for these incidents? He's given his life for this company, started here fresh out of college. He's family."

Still, the hair on the back of her neck pricked, seeing how poorly the situation looked to a seasoned detective. Peter's outright dislike of Casey came across as suspicious, as if he orchestrated these so-called accidents to frame Casey in order to take over the position he clearly coveted. Was this new Peter capable of that? The inability to answer the question filled Yael with trepidation and sweat formed on her upper lip. Nausea erupted violently in her stomach to even consider his involvement, and she pressed a hand to her quivering belly.

"We're investigating anyone who had access to those forged permits. Including the man whose signature is on them."

"Casey? Now you're being ridiculous," she scoffed. "The blame falls on him, regardless. Why put himself in that position?"

"To swoop in and save the day, convincing all his naysayers he isn't as incompetent as they think." The detective reached up and scratched his wide nose, his small brown eyes not giving away a single detail. "Casey grew up around construction sites and equipment, working for his father. It's the kind of knowledge whoever was responsible would likely have."

No. No way. She opened her mouth to come to Casey's defense, but paused. Why was it easier to believe Peter capable and not Casey? Shaking her head, she said, "So, you're concentrating on those two?"

"Not necessarily. We have a couple weak leads, which I can't discuss at the moment." He set his notebook on the desk and leaned forward. "Despite your colorful past, Miss Malkah, I respect your opinion here. Not having been in this office, especially since Casey's arrival, gives you a unique perspective. Fresh eyes, so to speak. You might see things others don't, note interactions we may dismiss." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card. "If you think of anything else, please contact me any time of the day."

On weak knees, she stood when he did, trying not to show how rattled she was by the two suspects on his list and the ramifications of each scenario. Moving around her desk, she posed another question.

"Couldn't this be a random act of sabotage? From an outside source? A competitor maybe?"

Detective Schulte shrugged, tucking away his notebook and pen. "It's possible, but they still had to have an inside connection. Access to Malkah Enterprises' permits and Casey's signature to forge. Don't worry. We'll have this contained before anything else happens. Good day, Miss Malkah."

She mumbled goodbye and returned to sit woodenly at her desk. Her mind conjured each man, looking for any tiny little hint they could be behind this, hating herself when she came to a single conclusion. Peter did not come out looking good. He had access, means, motive, and it killed her. She remembered accompanying him and her father to baseball games, playing horseshoes with him at the Hamptons house during family barbecues. Peter existed in so many of her childhood memories, and she swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Would he have fallen so far that he'd want to hurt her family?