Finn moved like a man whose life had been spent learning how to make seconds count. He folded himself into silence, voice low and precise into the secure earpiece. “Alpha teams, positions,” he said. “Bravo, cover the south stairwell. Charlie, vents and roof access. No lights, no sudden moves. We do not engage unless I give the word.”Outside, the hospital’s sterile lights hummed, indifferent. Inside, the rhythm was a metronome for the operation Finn had orchestrated from his office: a chessboard of men and women in dark jackets, radios patched into channels he controlled. Albrecht’s teams moved like ghosts—trained, efficient, chosen for discretion. Finn had insisted on professionals who could be surgical, not theatrical. Tonight, the difference between a surgeon and a butcher would matter.He kept his eyes on the feed of Ruth’s room. The camera was angled just enough to show the bed, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint twitch of an IV line—not a thing out of place to anyone

“Tell me what you want—why Ruth?” Finn asked, buying rhythm, buying time.“You were meant to be invisible,” the intruder said. “They wrote scripts. They assumed you’d stay small. I was given an assignment: remove the variable. You became inconvenient. Ruth—her wealth, her reach—she’s leverage. She gets you to dance.”Finn watched the intruder’s eyes for a fissure. There was none. Just a patient arrogance that came from being bankrolled and informed, from knowing someone would cover steps if anything went wrong.“All right,” Finn said. “If you want me to walk out there and hand you whatever you think I have—if you want me to step into the corridor and let you take me away—give me two things first.”The intruder’s brow twitched. “Name them.”“First: you let Ruth stay still and untouched while I move. No harm, no stunts. Second: you come within my sight—no pipes, no corridors where you can vanish. Let me see your face clearly. If you want proof that I won’t give the ledger, I’ll give you

“You want courts?” Finn asked, voice cold and controlled. “You want lawyers and filings and judge’s robes?” He let the words hang, like steel. “Fine. We’ll take this to the law. File whatever you want. I’ll see you there.”Shawn’s smile didn’t crack. He folded his hands on the table and inclined his head in a short, respectful bow. “Good. Do that. Bring your lawyers. Bring the press if you like. I’m not scared of a courtroom. In fact, I prefer the light.” He tapped the table with two fingers, as if punctuating the certainty of his claim. “Why would I be? I have proof.”Finn’s laugh was a hard sound. “Proof? What proof? A photo album and a sob story?”Shawn’s gaze sharpened. He reached into his jacket, produced a thin envelope, and slid it across the table until it stopped inches from Finn’s hand. “Not a story,” he said. “Documents. Certified copies. Witness statements. Hospital records. Marriage licenses. And a valid chain of custody on a DNA test sample taken legally. Everything is a

Daniella sat on the sofa, legs crossed, a glass of red wine in her hand. Her hair fell in clean, deliberate waves over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. The soft glow from the lamp gave her an almost cinematic stillness—like she’d been rehearsing the scene long before he arrived.“You’re late,” she said.Finn took off his coat and hung it by the door, his movements slow and cautious. “You’re in my house.”“I had a key,” she said, as if it explained everything. “You weren’t answering calls.”“Maybe that’s because I didn’t want company.”Daniella tilted her head slightly. “Then maybe you shouldn’t look so much like someone who just crawled out of a ghost story.”Finn ignored her and walked past, loosening his collar, heading straight to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the lamplight. The silence stretched long enough for her to fill it again with her voice.“So,” she said. “Where were you?”Finn’s hand froze around the glass. “Out.”“I can

He stared at it for what felt like a full minute, his pulse thundering in his ears. The word Dad sat like poison in his mouth. He’d heard countless titles in his life—CEO, convict, lunatic, genius—but never that one.Daniella stood frozen a few steps away.“Finn,” she whispered. “Say something.”He didn’t. His thumb hovered over the screen, then he typed back just two words.Where and when.The reply came almost instantly.Tomorrow. 11 a.m. Downtown Glasshouse Café. Come alone.Finn locked his phone, his expression unreadable. “Go home,” he said.Daniella shook her head, tears gathering. “You can’t face him alone.”“I’ve been alone for a long time,” he said quietly. “This changes nothing.”He left before she could respond.The morning came with gray skies and the kind of wind that carried rain but never delivered it. The Glasshouse Café sat at the edge of downtown — all glass walls and steel beams, elegant in its simplicity. From inside, you could see the whole city: moving cars, cros