The matte black LaFerrari coasted down Harmonfield’s upper boulevard, humming like a predator at rest. Sarah leaned her head back, the wind brushing strands of her hair into Jack’s face.She smiled. “You really made Emily faint.”Jack adjusted his sunglasses. “She needed to sit down. That showroom had too much reality in the air.”Sarah laughed—short, soft, unburdened. But as they drove past the digital tickers downtown, Jack noticed something on a skyscraper news screen.BREAKING: WILSON GROUP STOCK PLUNGES AFTER THOMPSON GROUP WITHDRAWAL.He blinked. “Already?”Sarah followed his gaze. “You knew this would happen.”“I hoped it would. But I didn’t think they’d bleed this fast.”The LaFerrari’s engine growled as Jack took a sharp turn.“Where are we going?” she asked.Jack’s mouth set in a line. “The Draconia Capital Summit. Emily’s pitching for rescue money.”Sarah straightened. “Oh no…”“Oh yes.”Hours later.The Grand Royale Hotel sparkled like a diamond tower as Jack pulled into v

The LaFerrari purred softly as it pulled up to Jack’s penthouse garage. The ride from Crestmont had been quiet—peaceful even. But Sarah had seen the storm still in his eyes, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but calculating.“You okay?” she asked gently as the car shut off.Jack stepped out, straightening his cufflinks. “Yeah. Just thinking.”“About Emily?”Jack looked at her. “About people like her. About what power does to someone who’s afraid of losing it.”The next evening, Harmonfield’s skyline shimmered in gold as floodlights danced over City Hall’s courtyard. It was time for the Annual Charity Auction—an event dripping with wealth, influence, and egos wrapped in thousand-dollar suits.Jack arrived alone, dressed in a crisp black mandarin-collared suit with no tie, understated but flawless. He parked his own car—an old Mercedes 300SL he’d rebuilt with Old Joe in their garage years ago.As he approached the red carpet, flashbulbs flickered.“He’s here.”“That’s Jack Parker, r

The wind rolled through Harmonfield’s Lower Strip, carrying the scent of gasoline, street tacos, and danger.Jack’s boots clicked against the cracked asphalt as he and Sarah rounded the final block of 7th and Mercer. Neon lights from underground lounges flickered overhead. Somewhere beneath the surface, the city breathed in gears and pulses.He slowed when a matte-black Dodge Challenger idled at the curb. Ryan leaned against it, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite the moonlight.“Took you long enough,” Ryan muttered, flicking his cigarette to the ground.Jack kept walking. “Didn’t know we were racing to meet you.”Sarah narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, Ryan?”Ryan nodded toward the alley beside him. A soft hum vibrated under the pavement—music, engine roars, money being counted.“You’ve been Harmonfield’s golden boy for weeks,” he said. “Miracles, media, redemption arcs. But you’ve never faced what matters here. Not really.”Jack tilted his head. “Let me guess. You think that’s a