Marcus's phone had been ringing non-stop since 6 AM, each call a threat wrapped in legal language or crude violence. By the time he arrived at the New York Public Library's Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, he'd received forty-seven messages telling him in various ways that speaking today would be the last mistake he will ever make.He planned to speak anyway.The Celeste Bartos Forum was packed beyond capacity, journalists and camera crews fighting for position like gladiators in an arena. Margaret Chen had done her job well, turning Marcus's press conference into the media event of the week. Every major outlet had sent representatives. Even the international press had shown up.Marcus stood in the preparation room, watching the crowd through a crack in the door. Victor checked his watch for the third time."Bradford's legal team is here. They're demanding we cancel it before you take the stage." Victor's jaw was tight with tension. "They're threatening immediate legal action if you pr

The courier arrived at Marcus's hotel room at exactly 8 AM, the third one this week, delivering legal documents. Marcus signed for the package without reading the courier's sympathetic expression, already knowing what the envelope contained before he opened it.Fifty million dollars.That was the price the Bradford family had placed on his silence.Marcus spread the lawsuit across the hotel room's desk. According to Bradford Industries' lawyers, his press conference had single-handedly destroyed decades of business relationships, tanked their stock value, and caused irreparable harm to their reputation. They wanted fifty million dollars in damages, a public apology, and a full retraction of every statement he'd made."It's actually impressive," Victor said from the doorway, reading over Marcus's shoulder. "They've managed to make you look responsible for every business problem they've had for the last five years. According to this, you're simultaneously an incompetent nobody and a cri

The invitation arrived by courier at dawn, delivered in a cream-colored envelope . Marcus opened it, reading the handwritten note inside with disbelief.“You've earned a real conversation. Come alone. Today at noon. – Father”Below the message was an address in Westchester."It's a trap." Victor said. "He's going to kill you”."Maybe." Marcus studied the invitation, looking for hidden meanings in his father's handwriting. "Or maybe he actually wants to talk.""Marcus, listen to yourself. You're walking into a compound filled with armed men." Victor's frustration was showing. "This isn't a conversation. It's an execution"Marcus's phone rang before he could respond. His mother."Don't go." Elena's voice was raw with fear that made Marcus's chest tighten. "Baby, please. Whatever your father is offering, whatever he's promising, it's a lie. He's going to kill you the moment you enter that compound. I know how he thinks. I was married to him for fifteen years.""Mom, I have to go. If I do

The call ended, leaving Marcus alone with Victor and the weight of the people suffering because of the choices he'd made."My bodyguards," Marcus said suddenly. "Where are James and others?"Victor's expression told Marcus everything before he spoke. "They were ambushed this morning. Three vehicles boxed them in on the FDR Drive. Professional hit, military-grade weapons. James took two bullets to the chest. He's in surgery now. Marcus has a concussion and broken arm, but he'll recover.""How many more people have to get hurt before I end this?" Marcus asked, not really expecting an answer.His phone buzzed with another video message. This time, Daniel wasn't alone. He was surrounded by men, at least a dozen of them, all armed."Meet my new associates," Daniel said, gesturing to the mercenaries around him. "Former military contractors, currently unemployed and very motivated by the generous compensation I'm offering. We're going to play a game, Marcus. I'm going to keep hurting people

The gallery was a tomb of silent commerce when Marcus arrived. The heavy doors were locked and the vast windows remained darkened, save for a single amber glow emanating from the back office where Robert waited. Marcus had barely found a moment of stillness at home after rejecting his father’s initial proposal before this new summons arrived.Victor had refused to let Marcus go alone. He sat idling in the car outside, his expression grim as he checked his watch. His instructions were explicit: if Marcus did not reappear within sixty minutes, Victor would initiate a protocol that involved the authorities and several other contingency plans they had discussed in hushed tones. Marcus stepped into the gallery alone, his shoes echoing against the hardwood.Robert stood motionless before a massive canvas that dominated the far wall. The painting depicted a shipwreck of haunting proportions. Bodies were lost to the churn of a violent, charcoal sea, while a few ragged survivors clung to a mak