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The man looming above him couldn’t have been slicker if he tried, with his sleazy smile, gelled hair, and pressed shirt. Even though the firm didn’t do Casual Fridays, he was missing a blazer and tie, but the watch on his right hand glinted silver—a Rolex that involved a waitlist and four figures. The name badge on his lanyard said “Eveline Batlet,” along with his job title: Financial Analyst.

He was also smiling at Hart like he wanted to eat him.

That the investor conference took place in Niagara Falls was better than the middle of nowhere, but just barely because Niagara Falls was the cheap Vegas of Canada. Hart would never have gotten to go if his boss wasn’t Zimmerman, Director of the Finance Department. He was lucky to be his secretary if it meant getting a taste of the high life.

Chet Chester had crazy eyes.

That was the first thing Sol Fitzroy thought when he saw him. There he was on the field, making what was supposed to be a soccer game into pure chaos.

At times like these, Sol was glad he'd taken Chet's hand.

His parents were being investigated for fraud and they hadn't even bothered to tell him. Sol found out like everyone else: through the news. He was only a little bitter about it.

It was New Year’s Eve and Sol was alone in the house.

They sat in the nurse’s office, Sol bruised and unsmiling, Chet with a black eye and a grin.

In cots across from each other, Sol looked at Chet and sighed. Chet was way too cheerful for someone who just gotten into a fight with a six foot two, two hundred pounds football player.

When Chet turned to him and said, “I have something to tell you,” Sol knew he was in for it.

Lunch was the best time of the day.

The morning was over, a respite between classes. Sol appreciated the break, away from lessons that made his head spin. No matter how hard he stared at the board, math never started to make sense.

The party was loud and sort of terrifying.

Sol was there only because Chet was there. And Chet was there because he helped a jock with his homework and scored an invite to the hottest rager in town.

“Fweet! Play ball!”

Sol stood in the middle of the field with his legs shaking.

It started off with the small things. A ring here, a bangle there. Shoes that were too pretty to be from the men’s department, all red and shiny and high-heeled.

The thirtieth annual Fitzroy charity gala. Truth to be told, Penn had never expected to be here again.

The plan was simple: to make the sweetest and most delicious breakfast to surprise Chet with. It was going to be wonderful and satisfying, enough to make him say “I love you, Sol!”

Evil Batlet was twenty-four and his brother was dead.

“You killed him.”

Clod stood in front of him, hands shaking as he raised his gun. He wore that red mask of his, the mask of a hero, but right now, he was anything but heroic. His face was twisted, eyes clouded with despair—but there was resolve too, and determination.

In another life, Bart Lovelace could've been anything. A genius. A diplomat. An oil tycoon if he was lucky enough to have oil tycoon parents. Bart would've been rich and famous and swimming in money. In this life though, it was his brother who was the genius diplomat (neither of them turned out to be oil tycoons).