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T HE CHAIRMAN. T HE REALIZATION IS FAST AND HEAD-SPINNING. Opponents who share the Owens name might mean nothing next to the real players here.

From everything I’ve heard—from Dash, from Mia—the Knives wield enormous influence. Money. Status. Protection. Violence. Is Otto Karlson the most powerful person in Volenvell? In Switzerland?

Is he… one of the most powerful people in the world?

I feel my chest tighten. When Otto realizes I’m not going to shake on our “reintroduction,” he retracts his hand.

“ You need no reintroduction, of course. I know you, Olivia Owens,” he continues, precision in every word.

“Seventeen years old, raised in your father’s home until you were fifteen, when your parents’ divorce found you living in Coventry, Rhode Island, with your mother.

Who is presently enjoying the Spa Wohlbefinden in Bern.

When you’re not rooting for your boyfriend in soccer, you occupy yourself playing puzzle games on your iPhone or, of course, stealing unconscionable sums from your family. ”

“Very good,” I pretend to praise him, hating the very mention of my mom. “You went two whole scrolls down my Instagram.”

He smiles. “Information is everything, Miss Owens. Which is why I will give you the same gift, for I have you at a disadvantage.”

I wait. In my hesitation, Otto continues.

“My name, which you know, is Otto Karlson. I grew up unremarkable in Forloratstaden, Sweden,” he starts.

“When my family experienced financial hardship, they wished to pull me from school until I proposed to pay my own way—which I did, through wire fraud and capable gambling. With my earnings, I invested in something called medical futures. Highly illegal, of course, in every financial market in the world. Highly lucrative,” he elaborates.

“When I graduated from university, I was worth a hundred million euros.”

I don’t reply, wishing the number didn’t impress me.

“I found the Knives, or they found me. Rising in their ranks to chairman was easy. What I mean to say is,” Otto continues, “I’ve won the game you think you’re playing, Miss Owens.

With your crew of high schoolers, your scores of mere millions, the petty-crime playhouse of your father’s mansion to steal from.

I know you, Olivia,” he concludes. “I’m who you pretend to be. ”

I swallow. I refuse to reveal how he’s intimidated me. “And yet you’re the one pretending to do my laundry,” I say. “Or wait, you had to do that one for real, didn’t you?”

Otto’s gaze narrows. “You fancy yourself a leader,” he replies. “In this respect, you will understand what I mean when I say there is nothing I would not do for the Knives.”

“And what exactly is it you do for them besides play house manager?” I ask over the hammering of my heart. If Otto is feeling chatty, I need to use the opportunity. “Do the Knives have a mission statement?”

“The Knives unite those who possess enormous wealth and demonstrable determination under one imperative—ourselves,” Otto answers.

“Infinite opportunities for expansion, for enrichment. Infinite connection. Innovation without interference. The world within reach. Securing ourselves with wealth. Influence. Intelligence.”

“Injury. Intimidation,” I continue.

“While we’re gentlemen—and gentlewomen—we’re not monsters. But… yes,” he concedes. “Eliminating opposition and ensuring our success sometimes involve evading the limitations of legality or propriety. Something with which you have experience, do you not?”

I press my lips together. He’s right.

Otto smiles. “I don’t intend to frighten you, Miss Owens. Only to impress upon you the magnitude of our presence.”

He pauses. Waiting. For what? Compliments? Me to run from the room?

“Well, first,” I say. “Very nice villain speech. I really liked it.”

Finally, impatience flashes in Otto’s eyes. “I’ve given you this explanation for one reason—so that you will answer my next question honestly. Where is Mia’s bracelet?”

The command in his voice shocks sense into me. I don’t know this man , I remember. I only know he’s very, very dangerous.

“I have no idea,” I say honestly. “Mia must have hidden it before her heist.”

He frowns. “That would be unfortunate.”

I don’t like the heavy pressure he places on the word. Unfortunate. Not unfortunate in the manner of lost luggage or unavailable dinner reservations. Unfortunate for Mia, he means.

“Won’t the cuff links protect her?” I venture. “The club protects its own, right?”

Otto’s gaze narrows. I guess Monsieur Information-Is-Everything didn’t know I had scrounged up some of his favorite currency myself in the past few days.

“You may ask Mr. Hensson that question. Should he ever recover,” he responds casually.

Chills having nothing to do with the cold erupt down my arms.

“What happened to, we’re not monsters ?” I venture.

Real displeasure invades Otto’s features. “Hensson was an unfortunate necessity. He failed in raiding your grandmother’s room, then thought we wouldn’t learn of his failure. Likely he assumed a crowd and a chairlift would keep him safe. He was a fool.”

The chairman shakes his head in disdain.

“To protect our interests, everything is within our reach. Such as mercenaries with experience in heli-ski jumping,” Otto continues.

“If Mrs. Owens had the chance to speak to Hensson, he might have betrayed our agenda to her. He had to be removed. As for Mia”—Otto looks only slightly less disgruntled discussing my cousin, which, like, fair—“I take no responsibility for what befell her.”

He shoves the rest of her things unceremoniously into her suitcase and zips it up, ditching the pretense of the diligent house manager.

“She was not yet a full member,” he continues.

“When one seeks to join the Knives, the initiation involves more than just inheriting—or, in her case, stealing—some cuff links. The cuff links were Mia’s introduction to our organization.

In order to officially join, she needed to do something for us. ”

Mia’s words in the vault return to me. Our unexpected heart-to-heart over the power drills. Mia wanted to be chosen .

“You wanted her to get into the vault. That was her task to officially join,” I say, putting the pieces together.

Otto nods. “We requested Hensson get inside the vault years ago when he was last invited to Volenvell. He knew we perceived his ongoing failure, hence his haste in ransacking your grandmother’s room,” Otto elaborates.

“He’d noticed our engagement of a new initiate to pursue the same goal this week.

Your cousin. We didn’t want to miss the window of opportunity Leonie’s weeklong party presented.

They were to cooperate, or work independently—we didn’t care, as long as their efforts were secret and successful. ”

Not that secret , I don’t reply. Mia’s meeting with Ernest was noticed by Tom. She doesn’t deserve mercenaries sent after her, though.

I can’t begrudge my cousin her choices. With her initiation, she would have become the one chosen not by our family, but by the powerful club. The next Owens member of the elite circle not even her father was initiated into.

“There is still an opening in the club, Olivia,” Otto says.

My eyes lock on his.

“I know you’re here to steal from your grandmother’s vault,” he confirms, his expression without judgment or delight.

“I’m offering you the chance to do what your cousin couldn’t.

Have you ever wondered what really happened to Andrew Owens?

If you joined our organization, I could tell you the truth,” he says. “For a price, of course.”

I clasp the lip of Mia’s vanity, digging my fingers into the wood.

Oh, I’m certain he could. I understand what he’s doing.

Leveraging me with information. “I know the Knives denied my grandfather’s autopsy.

I know one of you was responsible for his death,” I dare to reply. “Who’s to say it wasn’t you, Otto?”

Otto smiles thinly. “It wasn’t. There are reasons for your grandfather’s fate, Olivia. Reasons I can only tell you if you carry out Mia’s mission.”

I don’t know if I believe him. Still the temptation is… overwhelming.

“Why do you want into the vault?” I ask carefully. The Volenvell vault is where everything converges—the reason my grandfather was killed, and the objective the Knives have put every resource into pursuing.

Otto watches me. “Years ago,” he explains, “Leonie took something from the Knives. We believe it’s in the vault. Retrieve it for us.”

“Something?” I repeat. “How will I know what it is if you’re not going to tell me?”

His lips pull up slyly. I remember his hints of humor when Abigail pressed him on her plus-one, and when I imposed myself on Mia’s suitcase. Otto Karlson enjoys the gamesmanship of negotiation.

“I can’t tell you unless you’re in the club. Get into the vault. Call me. You can have the gold and the diamonds,” he offers. “We don’t care.”

“Why don’t you just break into the vault yourself?” I dare to ask.

Otto lifts Mia’s suitcase off the bed and sets it at his side.

“I cannot,” he says with what sounds like real regret, as if he understands the reasonableness of my request. “I have learned never to underestimate Leonie Owens. She watches my movements very carefully. I cannot jeopardize my position here until the job is done.”

I reconcile the new information with the picture I’m developing of Karlson and the Knives.

Andrew, I realize, may have been a Knife, but Leonie is not on good terms with the club.

The Knives have infiltrated her home in order to repossess whatever she stole from them, which is evidently valuable enough for their chairman to execute the operation personally.

Otto doesn’t work for Leonie. He’s spying on her.

Pretending to be… her house manager. Hauling luggage and managing complaints from pompous Owens relatives. Honestly, the initiative impresses me. Otto is unlike my other opponents. Unlike Dash or Leonie, fragile without their fortunes. He doesn’t mind playing pawn in order to remain king.

Now he wants me to join him. Join them .

Fighting the instinctual dread at the thought of walking in my father’s footsteps, I focus on my real objectives.

Vengeance for my grandfather. Securing my mom’s future and my own.

My crew’s safety and mine, despite the danger of increasingly powerful players.

Rooting out the rot in the Owens dynasty.

Would the Knives help me reach these goals?

And at what cost? How could I ever join the organization that killed my grandfather? The Knives have carved a devastating legacy into my family. How could I ever be one of them?

“I’m not one for taking orders from others,” I reply slowly. “I like to be the mastermind.”

Otto slams his hand on Mia’s desk.

With the gunshot strike of sound, I startle.

“I hoped reason and entreaty would sway you, Miss Owens,” Otto murmurs, ugly fury shaping his words now. “I hoped our negotiation would not come to my reminding you I know the names of every one of your crew members. I know where they live. Where you live—with your mother.”

He steps closer.

“You will carry out your plans and invade Volenvell’s vault, and you will procure what we require inside. And with everything I’ve disclosed to you,” he declares, “you will follow your family’s venerable footsteps into the ranks of the Knives.”

I say nothing.

I hate feeling intimidated. Small. Defeated.

Otto has, however, wholly succeeded in intimidating me. I have to force myself to breathe.

What he’s demanding is inescapable. In hindsight, it makes horrible sense.

I shouldn’t have wondered how I could possibly join the Knives.

I should’ve wondered how I could ever have hoped to escape my name’s ever-darkening legacy.

Evil self-important organizations and the Owens family go together like crime and punishment.

Heiress to an empire of thieves. Your family’s venerable footsteps.

Otto seems to follow my deductions. “You will succeed where your relatives failed, Miss Owens,” he promises me. “If you do not, or if you tell Leonie any of this conversation… Well, what happened to Hensson will be nothing in comparison.”

He walks to the door, letting his words sink in, sharp and slick as a knife.