Sebastian Forsythe killed the engine of his black Aston Martin and stepped out into the crisp mountain air, his handmade Italian leather shoes crunching on the gravel path. The contrast between his immaculate charcoal suit and the dilapidated building before him couldn't have been starker. Weathered wooden boards hung at odd angles, paint peeled from every surface like diseased skin, and broken shutters dangled from rusted hinges. This place looked like it hadn't seen proper maintenance in decades.

He adjusted his platinum cufflinks and surveyed the ramshackle structure with calculated interest. Finding the mysterious "Black Cat" had proven more challenging than anticipated. Three weeks of following leads through the city's underground networks had finally brought him here, to this forgotten corner of the mountains where civilization seemed to have given up entirely.

The Sterling Industries's most advanced prototype chip-worth fifty million dollars and three years of research-had vanished from their supposedly impenetrable vault. Industrial espionage of this caliber required someone with exceptional skills, someone who could slip through security systems like smoke. Someone like the Black Cat.

Sebastian straightened his silk tie and started up the uneven path toward the front door. Weeds pushed through cracks in the concrete steps, and he could hear the distant sound of children's voices echoing from somewhere inside the building. An orphanage, according to his intelligence. The perfect cover for someone who needed to stay invisible.

A rock whistled past his left ear with enough force to split his scalp if it had connected. Sebastian froze, his hand instinctively moving toward the concealed knife at his waist before he spotted the source of the attack.

Five children, ranging in age from perhaps seven to twelve, had emerged from behind a cluster of overgrown bushes. The oldest boy held a slingshot loaded with another stone, his face twisted in fierce determination. The younger ones clutched an assortment of rocks and what appeared to be a homemade catapult constructed from rubber bands and wooden spoons.

"Get out of here, mister!" the boy with the slingshot shouted, his voice cracking with pre-adolescent fury. "We don't want your fancy building company tearing down our home!"

A gap-toothed girl who couldn't have been older than eight stepped forward, brandishing a particularly sharp-looking piece of gravel. "Yeah! And we don't want to buy whatever you're selling either! Duncan says salesmen are just liars in expensive suits!"

Sebastian raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, though he couldn't suppress a slight smile. The children's protective instincts were admirable, even if their aim left something to be desired. "I'm not here to tear anything down, and I'm not selling anything."

"That's what they all say!" The oldest boy pulled back his slingshot again. "You rich people think you can just show up and take whatever you want. Well, not our home!"

Another rock sailed through the air, this one coming close enough to Sebastian's shoulder that he felt the wind displacement. His smile faded. These children weren't playing-they were genuinely afraid, and fear made people dangerous regardless of their age or size.

"Listen to me very carefully," Sebastian said, his voice taking on the authoritative tone that had silenced boardrooms full of powerful executives. "I'm looking for someone who might be able to help me. I have no interest in your home or in forcing anyone to leave."

The boy with the slingshot hesitated, perhaps sensing something in Sebastian's demeanor that suggested he wasn't like the previous visitors they'd apparently dealt with. But before he could respond, a third rock struck Sebastian squarely in the chest, knocking him back a step.

"Sophie, put that down right now!"

The commanding voice boomed from a second-story window, causing all five children to freeze instantly. Sebastian looked up to see a man with a magnificent salt-and-pepper beard leaning out of the window, his weathered face creased with disapproval. The man's arms were corded with muscle despite his apparent age, and his steel-gray eyes held the kind of authority that came from years of managing unruly children.

"But Duncan," the gap-toothed girl protested, "he's wearing an expensive suit! That means he's here to cause trouble!"

"It means he's here to conduct business," the bearded man replied firmly. "And we don't conduct business by throwing rocks at visitors. Now all of you, inside. Mrs. Henderson has lunch ready."

The children dispersed with obvious reluctance, shooting suspicious glances at Sebastian as they trudged toward the building's front entrance. The oldest boy was the last to leave, keeping his slingshot trained on Sebastian until he disappeared through the doorway.

Duncan-apparently the man's name-pulled his head back inside the window, and Sebastian heard heavy footsteps descending what sounded like wooden stairs. A moment later, the front door creaked open to reveal the same bearded figure, now wearing a faded flannel shirt and work pants that had seen better decades.

"You'll have to forgive them," Duncan said, stepping out onto the sagging front porch. "We've had some unwelcome visitors lately. Construction companies wanting to buy the land, city officials threatening to condemn the building. The children have learned to be protective."

Sebastian brushed dust from his suit jacket and studied the man before him. There was something about Duncan's posture, the way he held himself with perfect balance despite the casual appearance, that suggested combat training. Military, perhaps, or law enforcement. Interesting.

"No harm done," Sebastian replied. "Though their aim is surprisingly accurate for children their age."

Duncan's weathered face creased into what might have been a smile. "I taught them well. A man can't be too careful when he's responsible for twenty-three children and the nearest police station is forty miles down a mountain road." He paused, his gray eyes assessing Sebastian with uncomfortable intensity. "You're not from around here. That suit costs more than most people in these mountains see in a year."

"You have a good eye for quality." Sebastian reached into his jacket slowly, conscious that Duncan's hand had moved closer to what was undoubtedly a concealed weapon. He produced an embossed business card. "Sebastian Forsythe. I'm looking for someone who goes by the name Black Cat."

Duncan accepted the card without breaking eye contact. His expression revealed nothing as he read it, but Sebastian caught the slight widening of his pupils. Recognition, carefully controlled but unmistakable.

"Sterling Industries," Duncan read aloud. "Impressive. Though I have to wonder what a man in your position wants with street legends and urban myths."

"Is that what the Black Cat is? A myth?"

Duncan folded the business card precisely and slipped it into his shirt pocket. "Depends on who's asking and why they want to know." He leaned against the porch railing, which groaned ominously under his weight. "These mountains are full of stories, Mr. Forsythe. Most of them are just that-stories."

Sebastian stepped closer, close enough to see the calculation behind Duncan's steady gaze. This man knew something, that much was certain. The question was whether he could be persuaded to share it.

"Someone with extraordinary skills recently acquired something that belongs to my company," Sebastian said carefully. "I'm hoping to negotiate its return. No law enforcement, no legal complications. Just a straightforward business transaction."

"And if this mythical Black Cat doesn't want to negotiate?"

Sebastian's smile was sharp as a blade. "Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."