QUEEN’S car screeched to a stop in front of the towering gates of the Escobar estate. The armed guards at the gatehouse straightened immediately, recognizing her, and she didn’t even bother with pleasantries, she rolled down her window halfway, her sunglasses still perched on her nose.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice sharp as a blade.

The older guard, clearly uncomfortable, cleared his throat and stepped closer.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. The master isn’t in at the moment. He left for the office this morning—”

Queen didn’t let him finish.

“Office? Which branch?”

“The headquarters, ma’am. He—”

But she had already rolled up the window. With a harsh twist of...