Cold. That was all Andre felt.The air in the holding cell was heavy, almost wet. The gray walls pressed in on him, and the single metal bench beneath him was hard and cold. The same questions ran through his head again and again.How did it come to this?Why didn’t she speak for me?Why did Tom do this?He had been the Golden Son. The chosen heir. The one everyone admired.Now? Now he was just a man in an orange jumpsuit. Betrayed. Broken. Alone.Andre leaned back against the wall; eyes closed. Every time he thought of Hermosa, a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. Her face. Her voice. The bracelet she gave him. “I’ll always be here.”Lies.He opened his eyes when the cell door creaked open. Two guards entered.“Time for your hearing,” one said, rough and uninterested.Andre stood slowly. His wrists were cuffed again, and they led him down the long hallway. His footsteps echoed. Cameras flashed through small square windows as he passed. Reporters pressed against the glass like vult

The skyline of New Orleans glimmered under a sickly dusk; the city’s pulse uneven. Once, the name Gordonis lit up the city like gospel. Now it clung like a curse to the crumbling towers of Gordonis Corporation.Inside the top floor of the glass monolith that housed the company, Tom Gordonis sat stiff in a leather chair far too big for his shrinking confidence. The marble desk before him was strewn with newspapers and reports: Financial Disaster Looms for Gordonis Corp, Once Golden Empire Bleeds Out Investors, Whispers of Corruption and Collapse.He rubbed his temples, the soft sound of classical music from the corner radio failing to soothe the growing panic under his skin.“Cut the music,” he snapped.The assistant outside the door heard it and killed the soft Beethoven. Silence swallowed the office, giving room for the anxiety to breathe louder.The last six years had been a storm.He had clawed his way to the top, stolen it from Andre, and now it was slipping through his fingers. E

The Gordonis boardroom was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioner. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering New Orleans skyline, but inside, the tension was thick enough to choke on. At the head of the long obsidian table sat Tom Gordonis, rigid in his seat. Around him, the board members exchanged nervous glances. Angela White stood to one side, her arms folded, watching.The glass doors opened without fanfare. Don Alaric entered, flanked by two silent aides. His footsteps were measured, echoing softly on the polished marble floor. He wore the same dark suit. The scars on his face caught the light, a stark reminder that he was as dangerous as he was wealthy.Tom rose, forcing a polite smile he could not sustain. “Mr. Alaric, thank you for coming.”Don Alaric inclined his head once. “Let’s dispense with pleasantries, shall we?” His voice was smooth, each word precise. “I have reviewed the company’s books. The numbers paint a clear picture: Gordonis Corp is bleeding

Bella Ray wasn’t the kind of woman who ignored her instincts, especially not when they screamed in her ear like sirens on Bourbon Street.She adjusted her glasses, eyes narrowed as she stared at the glossy investor dossier spread across her apartment table. Don Alaric’s rise had been too perfect, too surgical. Within weeks of appearing on the Gordonis Corp radar, he had injected capital, demanded control, and silenced anyone who raised objections, including Tom Gordonis himself, who now walked like a man being led on a leash.Bella didn’t believe in ghosts. But something about this “Don Alaric” had that lingering chill of a man who rose from the grave.She tucked her curly auburn hair into a bun, snapped shut the file, and pulled on her coat. Time to do what she did best…. dig.---Bella’s first stop was the Gordonis Corp public records office. Her credentials as a private security analyst, and a little charm, got her into the lesser-known files. She combed through purchase ledgers, b

The Gordonis Corporation boardroom, once an untouchable symbol of opulence and control, now felt like a battlefield. Walls lined with glass refracted sunlight onto polished mahogany and cold marble, but none of it could hide the tremor running through Tom Gordonis's hand as he read the report splayed across the table.“What the hell is this?” Tom barked, slamming the document down.Don Alaric leaned back in his chair, unbothered, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “That, Mr. Gordonis, is the beginning.”Tom’s eyes flared. “You went behind my back and bought out Vanguard Mercantile? That’s one of our top revenue streams!”“Correction,” Don Alaric said smoothly. “Was one of your top revenue streams.”He folded his hands on the table like a man delivering a eulogy, not a business update. “You signed over veto rights. Full asset control. I simply exercised what you were so desperate to give.”Tom’s face went red. “You son of a….”“Ah, ah.” Don Alaric raised a finger