The air in the "Hell Block" of Iron Gate Prison didn't circulate. It just sat there, heavy with the smell of rust, unwashed bodies, and the metallic tang of blood. Five years had passed since the doors slammed shut behind Thiago Henderson, but he didn't count the days anymore. He counted the scars.He sat on a low concrete bench, his shirt off despite the chill. His back was a map of survival—jagged lines from shivs and bruises that had turned into hard muscle. He wasn't the scrawny janitor who had been shoved into a police car five years ago. His shoulders were broader, his jaw set like granite, and his eyes had lost every trace of warmth."They're coming for you today, old man," Thiago said, his voice a low rasp. He didn't turn around. He didn't have to. He could hear the heavy boots of the Tier-4 gang members echoing in the distance.In the corner of the cell, huddled on a thin cot, was Radcliffe. To the guards, he was just prisoner 4021, a disgraced fraudster who had supposedly sc

The top floor of the Rad & Co. headquarters was silent, except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. Thiago sat at the head of the polished table, his eyes fixed on the flickering monitors. He adjusted his cuff, the heavy gold watch on his wrist feeling like a weapon."Sir, the targets are in position," Stephen said, stepping into the light. He held a tablet showing a live feed of the Global Tech lobby. "Henry McHampton just pulled up in his limousine. He looks quite pleased with himself."Thiago leaned forward, his face reflected in the dark glass of the table. "He thinks today is his coronation. He thinks that merger is his shield.""It would be, sir," a lawyer added from the corner. "If the deal goes through, he’ll have enough liquid cash to pay off the Hastings' debts and settle the lawsuits we’ve been preparing. Why not just let the police handle him? We have the fraud documents ready."Thiago turned his head slowly, his eyes cold. "The police? The police would put him in a c

The grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was filled with the smell of expensive lilies and desperation. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a sharp light on the faces of New York’s elite. Usually, this crowd was loud and arrogant. Tonight, they spoke in whispers.The Hastings family was at the center of the room, but they didn't look like kings anymore. Henry McHampton stood near the bar, his face pale, his hand shaking as he gripped a glass of gin. Bernadette was beside him, her smile fixed and brittle, like glass about to shatter."He has to show up, Henry," Bernadette whispered, her eyes darting to the entrance. "The Mystery Chairman from Rad & Co. is our only hope. If he doesn't buy our debt tonight, we’re finished. The banks will take the house by Monday.""I know that!" Henry snapped, his voice tight. "Just make sure you look the part. If he likes what he sees, maybe he won't look too closely at our balance sheets."The massive double doors swung open. The room went

Thiago sat in his dimly lit study, the small, battered nursery rhyme book resting on the desk before him. He ignored the flickering screens of the stock market and the constant pings of his banking alerts. His entire world had shrunk to the size of a tiny, blue handprint on the back of a cheap cardboard cover.He traced the ridges of the ink with a trembling finger. "It's a child’s print, Stephen," Thiago whispered, his voice thick with a mix of dread and hope. "A small child. Maybe four or five years old."Stephen stood near the doorway, his face etched with concern. "Sir, it could be anyone’s. The clinic handled dozens of patients that night. Bernadette was adamant. She provided the medical clearance showing the procedure was finished.""Bernadette would lie to God if it meant hurting me," Thiago snapped, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. "My sister was drugged into a stupor for five years, but she risked everything to hide this book in a secret pocket.

The clock in the grand hallway struck midnight. The sound echoed through the house like a death knell. Henry and Bernadette were slumped in the living room, surrounded by empty wine bottles and half-packed suitcases. The lights were dim, and the air was heavy with the smell of expensive gin and failure."We can still fix this," Henry muttered, his voice raspy. "We have the offshore accounts. We can move the money before the bank sees.""With what time, Henry?" Bernadette snapped. She looked at her chipped nails. "The Chairman bought our debt. He owns the walls. He owns the floor. He probably owns the air we’re breathing right now."The front door opened.There was no knock. There was no polite greeting. Just the heavy, rhythmic sound of boots on the floor.Thiago Henderson walked into the living room. He wasn't wearing the orange jumpsuit of a prisoner anymore. He wore a charcoal suit that fit him perfectly. His silver eyes were calm, almost bored.Henry jumped up, knocking over a gla