Jason’s POV

I stride past the receptionist, ignoring her startled protest, and hit the button for the 57th floor. Each floor that dings past is another tick in my temper. I wonder who gave the bastard the audacity to pull a stunt like this and think he'd away scot-free. The elevator doors slide open, and I march past his assistant, who scrambles after me in a futile attempt to block my path.

I don't bother with knocking. I throw the door open. There he is, Conrad, my illustrious stepbrother, sitting behind his desk, leaning over a small, neat heap of white powder I assume is cocaine. The air in the...