CHAPTER 162– THE DEVIL ALL ALONGKelvin slammed the door of his beat-up Chevy behind him, the rusty hinges groaning like they were as fed up with life as he was. The neon sign of O’Malley’s Bar flickered above the entrance, casting a sickly red glow on the cracked sidewalk. It was one of those dive spots on the edge of town, the kind where the beer was cheap, the lighting dim, and nobody asked questions. Perfect for a guy like him, nursing a headache and a heartache that wouldn’t quit.He pushed through the heavy wooden door, the stale smell of spilled whiskey and cigarette smoke hitting him like a punch to the gut. The place was half-empty, a few regulars hunched over their drinks at the bar, murmuring low conversations that blended with the crackle of an old jukebox playing some forgotten country tune. Kelvin scanned the room out of habit—old instincts from his days on the force—before sliding onto a stool at the far end. The bartender, a grizzled guy named Lou with a tattoo of a fa

CHAPTER 164 – BAIT ON THE LINELila’s hands shook so badly that the pen scratched uneven lines across the yellow legal pad. The warehouse was quiet except for the scratch of graphite, the occasional creak of the metal chair when she shifted, and the low hum of the fluorescent bulb overhead. Gravelly and High-Voice had retreated to the shadows near the door, arms folded, watching her like hawks. Kelvin sat on the edge of the folding table, legs crossed, reading through the pages she’d already filled as she handed them over one by one.She wrote everything. Every text message she could remember. The exact date Harry slid the first envelope of cash across a diner table in the booth farthest from the window. The burner phone number he’d made her memorize. The script he’d emailed her—lines about how “that night meant something” and how she’d “always wondered if he felt it too.” She even wrote down the name of the shady lab tech Harry knew, the one who’d swapped the samples for two thousand

CHAPTER 166 — VERDICT CROWN INDUSTRIESThe garden did not rush him.That was what Kelvin liked most about it. Nothing here demanded immediate answers. The leaves did not curl if he hesitated. The soil did not harden out of impatience. Everything waited. Everything trusted time.Logan, however, did not.“You’re quiet,” Logan said.Kelvin crouched again, fingers brushing the base of a young plant. He loosened the soil gently, as if the roots might bruise under anything rougher. “I’m thinking.”Patrick shifted behind Logan, adjusting his stance so he wouldn’t cast a shadow too close. He knew better than to interrupt moments like this.“You think too much,” Logan replied. “That’s always been your problem.”Kelvin smiled faintly. “I learned that from you too.”Logan’s lips pressed together. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he listened—to the breeze, to the distant hum of the estate waking, to the scrape of Kelvin’s movements in the dirt.“This company,” Logan continued, as if starti

CHAPTER 168— THE FIRST MOVEThe room exhaled.It was barely perceptible—a collective release of breath held too long. Chairs creaked as executives shifted, the sound amplified in the vacuum Kelvin had created simply by existing in the doorway. Collins sat again, the gesture signaling permission for the rest to follow. No one spoke. No one dared clear a throat or flip a page.Kelvin did not wait for applause that would never come. He moved to the empty chair at the head of the table—Collins’s usual seat—and lowered himself into it with the quiet certainty of a man reclaiming what had always been his. Collins had already slid one place down, a silent concession made weeks ago, apparently.Diana watched every millimeter of the choreography.Kelvin’s hands settled on the armrests. Long fingers, no ring. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the polished wood, and let his gaze travel the table once more. Not a sweep meant to intimidate—more like an inventory. Who was useful. Who was nervou

CHAPTER 170 — THE BAR ON 5THA Brief Flashback — Joyce, All This WhileJoyce didn’t remember grabbing her coat.One minute she was sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, palms pressed hard to her eyes like she could physically shove the tears back where they came from. The room still smelled faintly of her perfume and the vanilla candle Lola had once borrowed without asking. Everything felt too personal. Too loud, even in silence.Then something in her snapped—not loudly, not dramatically. Just a quiet click. Like a switch being flipped.She stood.Her body moved before her thoughts could argue. Closet door open. Black trench pulled from the hanger. Not the elegant one meant for galas—the practical one. Heavy. Anonymous. She shoved her feet into flat boots instead of the heels still abandoned by the door, grabbed her purse, her phone, keys. No checking the mirror. No fixing the loose pins in her hair. The girl staring back at her would only slow her down.She needed out.