Elias stood outside the unmarked warehouse that served as Crane’s safehouse. His breath came steady, but beneath his calm exterior, a storm of thoughts churned. Lena and Marcus flanked him The black SUVs and the sleek Rolls-Royce were parked just out of sight, ready for a swift exit if things went south.Lena’s fingers danced over her earpiece. “Security’s tight. Two guards at the front, three more inside. Crane trusts no one.”Marcus cracked his knuckles. “I say we hit hard, fast. Take them by surprise.”Elias shook his head. “We don’t just want to hit hard. We want answers. We bring Crane in alive if possible.”Lena’s eyes narrowed. “That’s risky. But I get it. Evidence is everything.”His scar itched — his mother’s voice whispering through the ache, reminding him of the line between justice and vengeance.“We do this smart,” Elias said, pulling the silenced pistol Lena had handed him earlier from his jacket. “No collateral damage.”Marcus snorted. “You’re too soft sometimes, Kane.

Elias Kane leaned against the tinted glass of the hotel suite. He adjusted the cuff of his dark suit, the faint glint of his mother’s old ring on his finger.On the low table beside him sat two untouched glasses of whiskey and a single sealed envelope—inside it, copies of the files that had sent Trent and Carla to holding cells hours ago.He didn’t trust easy anymore. Especially not tonight.The elevator chimed. The bodyguard outside the suite cracked the door. He heard Lena’s voice through his earpiece: “She’s alone. No tail. Be ready.”He turned as Mara Voss stepped in, her heels quiet on the thick carpet. She wore a gray coat over a fitted dress, her hair pinned up like it used to be when they were first married—before the towers, before the gala nights, before she called him nothing.For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence buzzed louder than the city below.“I didn’t think you’d come,” Elias said finally, his voice steady. He didn’t move from the window.Mara studied him

Chapter Fifteen The safehouse files Lena had pulled together were spread out on the glass table in front of him—bank statements, contracts with forged signatures, bribes wired through ghost companies, all proof that Crane had propped up the Voss family’s empire for years.He reached into his pocket and traced the edge of his mother’s old KaneTech ID card. Even dead, Amelia Kane still spoke to him. Her voice wasn’t a whisper this time—it was a roar telling him there was no turning back.Footsteps echoed outside. Marcus stepped in first, arms crossed, a faint grin on his lips. Lena trailed him, tablet under her arm, her expression sharp.“It’s all here,” Lena said, dropping the tablet on the table. “Crane’s whole laundry list of dirt. Offshore accounts. Payoffs to city officials. Even hush money to keep regulators away when KaneTech’s patents were stolen.”Elias rubbed his scar absently. “Good. Now we burn them all with it.”Marcus frowned. “Careful. You push too hard, too fast—you spoo

The dawn sky over Chicago bled pale orange as Elias Kane stood on the balcony of BrightStar Tower — his tower now — looking down at the city that once buried his mother’s legacy. Below, news vans already gathered like vultures waiting for the kill. The files Lena pulled from BrightStar’s hidden server — the forged contracts, the secret bribes, the offshore payments linking Crane, the Voss board, and Councilman Reid — were about to go live.Inside, Lena leaned against the glass wall, arms folded. She looked tired but wired, the adrenaline of the raid still fresh in her eyes. Marcus stood near the conference table, cleaning a small cut on his knuckle from when they’d dragged Crane’s last guard out.“You really want to go through with this press stunt?” Marcus asked, glancing at the sleek cameras their media team was setting up. “It paints a target on your back.”Elias didn’t turn from the window. “They already painted it for me years ago,” he said quietly. He felt the faint pulse of his

Elias Kane felt that empire slip like sand through his fingers.He stood at the long glass wall of his office, arms folded behind his back, the city laid bare before him — every street a vein pumping secrets he was still trying to bleed out. Crane was gone. Vivian was moving. Mara was here — but for how long?Behind him, Mara sat curled in one of the leather chairs that used to make him feel like an imposter in his own mother’s throne room. Now the furniture felt like props, and he was the only actor who remembered the script.Mara’s phone buzzed for the third time in ten minutes. She turned it face-down on her lap, but Elias heard the hum. Her mother. Always her mother.He turned, voice low but sharp. “Answer it.”Mara’s eyes flicked up. “You want to listen in?”“I want her to know you’re still here,” Elias said. He moved closer, his shadow spilling across her crossed legs. “And that you’re mine to watch.”Mara’s lips twitched into something between a smirk and a grimace. “Always lik