Lucas came downstairs, intending to serve himself a glass of wine. But his eyes widened in shock when he saw Phillip Constantine, sitting comfortably on the sofa in his living room. "What the...?!" Lucas exclaimed. He was stunned. "What are you doing here in my place... and how the heck did you even get here?!" Phillip looked up, and took a quick sip from the glass of wine in his hand, smiling. "Oh... I think I should have knocked. But I needed a place to stay, so I told your security I was your guest." Lucas's anger flared up. "Those bunch of idiots! Why did they just let you in without informing me?!" "Hey buddy, calm down. Okay? I just needed a place to stay, so I thought it wise to come here since we're now partners with a common goal. Where I was hiding isn't too comfortable... that's why I'm here, Lucas," Phillip said. Lucas frowned. "That doesn't explain why you think you can just barge into my home. It f*ucking doesn't explain why the heck you're here!" "Home yo

"Wait, honey... I think I have a plan too... One that will blow your mind," Mrs. Winchester announced excitedly. She motioned towards her husband. Mr. Winchester inquired, "And... what's that got to be, Miranda?" His expression showed his eagerness to know what his wife had in mind. Mrs. Winchester sat next to her husband, ready to reveal her plan. "So... you're going to call our daughter and let her know that I'm very ill... I mean, on the verge of dying anytime soon. Tell her that I have some organs failing and that you're afraid I have little time left to live... Just... come up with something she's easily going to believe." Mr. Winchester's face lit up with admiration. "That's superb, Miranda. I married a smart woman indeed. That way, we'll get her to come see you on your 'sick bed,' and then we'll take it from there." Mrs. Winchester smiled, a villainous glint in her eye. "Sounds like a perfect idea, Henry. But... don't forget we need to arrange things with Dr. Smith. I k

Tom’s POV The Sullivan mansion was shrouded in silence when Tom slipped into his study that night, Lisa already asleep down the hall. In the gloom, Tom’s mind raced. The day’s events replayed in his head: the Winchesters’ act, Dr. Smith’s rehearsed pitch, Lisa’s haunted eyes, and those two messages from Phillip Constantine. Phillip was in the shadows, pulling strings, and Lisa—Lisa was drifting, her trust eroding day by day. He sat at his desk, the faint blue light of his laptop painting his face in cold tones. He hesitated, then opened the encrypted chat window he hadn’t touched in years. “Marcus. Need a full background on Dr. Smith, Saint Mary’s Hospital. Urgent. Watch for military contractor links. —T.” He hit send. Marcus Reed, his old comrade, wouldn’t ask questions. They’d once survived a black site together with nothing but a broken radio and sheer will; if anyone could find the truth, it was Marcus. Tom closed the laptop and stared out the window. The city l

Tom Sullivan had always believed that the worst betrayals didn’t come from enemies, but from those you trusted with your weaknesses. As he sat at his desk that morning, the manila folder Lisa had found in her father’s study lay open before him—a map of treachery, desperate moves, and debts.Lisa hovered near the window, arms wrapped around her waist. She’d spent half the night crying, then the other half poring over the documents with him, her faith in her family shattering with each new page. But Tom was already looking past her pain, triangulating threats, searching for patterns in the chaos.The folder was damning. The Winchesters, it turned out, were neck-deep in debt to a lender called Lancer Holdings—a name that meant nothing to most people, but everything to Tom. The company, on paper, was a faceless investment group. In reality, it was a front for Felix Sullivan’s more creative financial maneuvers: loans that came with invisibl