Maura sobbed silently. Tears of fear streamed down her face. She felt small, exposed, and helpless before this predator."I'm sorry..." Maura whispered unconsciously. The word just slipped out. "Forgive me..."David leaned in, his lips brushing Maura's earlobe. Hot. "Save your apologies for tonight. You'll need plenty of them when I'm finished with you."David pulled back, the terrifying aura slowly receding, allowing Maura to gasp for breath again. He placed a black magnetic key card on the wet bar counter."This is the key to my Penthouse on Park Avenue," David said, returning to his normal, cold tone."You have until midnight, Maura," David continued, glancing at his expensive watch. "If you don't show up at my door on time... tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM, the files proving your two-million-dollar embezzlement will be on the District Attorney's desk."David straightened his suit. "Women's prisons in New York are rough for a beautiful woman

Robert frowned. His police instincts flared up. He released the embrace, snatched his pistol from the table, and racked the slide.“Stay calm. Let me check,” Robert signaled Camelia to be silent.Robert tiptoed to the door. He peered through the peephole. The apartment hallway was empty. The hall light flickered dimly. No one was there.But on the floor in front of the door, a medium-sized cardboard box lay. The box was soaking wet, leaving a puddle of black water on the hallway floor.Robert unlocked the door, pointing his gun left and right down the hall. Empty. He bent down and picked up the package. It was heavy and damp. It smelled… rotten. The stench of river mud and dead algae.Robert brought the package inside and kicked the door shut.“What is that?” Camelia asked, her eyes wide at the sight of the wet box dripping black water onto her clean floor.“A package. No sender name,” Robert

The 40th floor of the Titan Corp Building now had a different atmosphere. If the room had felt cold and rigid under Maura, now, under David Vexley, the air felt charged with dangerous static electricity.David sat in his new black leather chair, his back to the massive Manhattan window. Before him, a neat stack of Moretti Group financial documents lay spread out. The numbers on the paper were not merely building profits, but the flow of money laundering funds from casinos and black market trade, now managed by David using the Skill: Mathematics Genius.Knock. Knock."Enter," David commanded without looking up from the files.The door opened. A young woman with a platinum blonde bob stepped inside. She wore an overly tight pencil skirt and a silk blouse with the top button deliberately undone.Valerie, the new secretary sent by the agency this morning. Or at least, that’s what her CV claimed."Mr. David," Valerie’s voice was a sed

An hour later, a thunderstorm struck Brooklyn.The abandoned Navy Yard district looked like the setting for a horror movie. Old red-brick factory buildings loomed in the darkness, their broken windows like blind eyes. The sea wind howled fiercely, carrying the scent of salt and rust.Robert parked his car two blocks away. He moved through the shadows, creeping toward Warehouse 4B. He wasn't stupid. He used SWAT tactics to approach the location, ensuring there were no traps.The warehouse was silent. Its sliding iron door was slightly ajar, leaving an inviting dark gap."Hello?" Robert called softly, his pistol aimed forward.Silence. Only the sound of raindrops penetrating the leaky corrugated iron roof. Drip... Drip... Drip.Robert flicked on the tactical flashlight mounted beneath his pistol barrel. The white light sliced through the darkness, sweeping across the vast, dusty warehouse interior. There were piles of rotting wooden crates, ir

The Prudential Life Insurance office in Manhattan.Camelia Harrow sat in a plush chair across from a massive desk, clad in an expensive black dress—one of the few luxury items she hadn’t yet sold. On her beautiful face, she wore a mask of perfect grief, complete with a handkerchief she occasionally dabbed at the corners of her dry eyes.Across the desk, Mr. Henderson, a senior insurance agent with gold-rimmed glasses, was typing something on his computer."So, Mrs. Vexley," Mr. Henderson said without taking his eyes off the screen. "You are filing a claim for the death of your husband, David Vexley, in the amount of two hundred thousand dollars. Is that correct?""That’s correct, Sir," Camelia answered with a feigned tremor in her voice. "My husband... poor David. He slipped at the edge of the bridge and fell into the river. His corpse... I mean, his body washed away before it could be recovered. The police have already issued a missing person’s report presuming death."Camelia held h