I sat on the floor of the library, the heat from the dying fire finally starting to fade. My legs were stiff, but I didn't want to move. This was the hardest part to tell, the part where I lost the only father I had ever truly known and gained a weight that would sit on my chest for the rest of my life."By the fourth year, the dynamic had shifted completely," I said to Melanie. "I wasn't just a student anymore. I was his shadow. I was his right hand. In the yard, people didn't see a 'trash' son-in-law anymore. They saw the man who walked beside the king of Iron-Gate. Radcliffe had me managing portfolios on smuggled burner phones. I was making million-dollar trades while sitting on a bucket in the laundry room.""Did people know what you were doing?" Melanie asked."They knew I was dangerous," I replied. "Radcliffe taught me that information is a more effective weapon than a shank. We knew which guards were gambling away their kids' tuition. We knew which warden was having an affair.

I stood by the window of the library, the New York skyline shimmering in the distance. It looked different now than it did that first night after the fire. Back then, it looked like a mountain I had to climb. Now, it looked like a playground I owned."The safe house was a concrete bunker in upstate New York," I told Melanie. "It was hidden under a defunct textile mill—ironic, considering the Hastings made their money in fabrics. For the first three months, I didn't see the sun. I didn't want to. I needed the dark to finish what the fire had started."Melanie walked over to me, her voice a soft tether to the present. "What does a man do when he’s dead to the world but has more money than most countries?""He recreates himself," I said. "Every morning started at four. Stephen had hired trainers who didn't ask questions—former special forces, men who only cared about the wire transfers hitting their accounts. I pushed my body until I vomited. I lifted until my muscles tore and rebuilt th

I didn't sleep in my bed that night, I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep right there on the rug. When I woke up, the morning light was cutting through the high windows in sharp, cold needles. I was covered in a soft wool blanket that I didn't remember pulling over myself.The house was quiet, but it wasn't the dead silence of the prison. It was the sound of a home waking up. I could hear the faint clinking of porcelain from the kitchen and the distant hum of the city beginning its day downstairs. I sat up, rubbing my face. My joints felt stiff, and my heart felt strange. For the first time in years, the crushing weight in my chest was gone, and it terrified me.I found Melanie in the sun-drenched breakfast nook. She was wearing a simple oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy knot. She was staring at a cup of coffee, her expression unreadable. When she saw me, she didn't jump. She just pushed a second cup toward the empty chair across from her."You slept for almost seven

The blue glow of the monitors was the only thing cutting through the dimness of the room. I stayed in my chair, my hands gripped so tightly on the armrests that my knuckles felt like they were about to burst through the skin. Melanie stood by the door, her silhouette motionless against the hallway light. I could feel her watching me, waiting for the storm to break."He shouldn't have been in that car," I said. My voice was flat, echoing against the glass walls. "It was raining. It was that cold, miserable rain that makes the roads look like oil. I told him we could wait until morning. I told him the whistleblower wasn't going anywhere."Melanie walked closer, her footsteps clicking softly on the floor. She sat on the edge of the desk, not too close, but close enough that I could hear her breathing. "David was never good at waiting, Thiago. You know that better than anyone.""He found something he couldn't sit on," I continued, staring at a blank screen. "He came to my office that nigh

The penthouse was too quiet. I stood by the glass wall of the war room, watching Julian work. The hum of the servers was a constant vibration in the floorboards. Stephen was at a side desk, his tie loosened, surrounded by piles of legal documents and bank records. He looked exhausted. His skin had a gray tint under the fluorescent lights, and he kept rubbing his eyes."You should sleep, Stephen," I said.He didn't look up from a spreadsheet. "There are forty-two shell companies linked to the Hastings’ primary holdings, Thiago. I’ve managed to crack three. Every time I get close to a liquid asset, the money moves. It’s like chasing water through a sieve. They have help. Professional help."I walked over and looked at the screen. "Julian is building the dragnet, but that only helps if they walk in front of a lens. If they’re hunkered down in a basement somewhere, we’re just staring at empty streets.""Exactly," Stephen said. He finally leaned back, his chair creaking. "We are fighting a