“Boss,” Anthony says sharply, loud enough for those nearby to hear, “we’ve got a problem.”
I turn. “Oh?”
“It’s your father,” he says. “He’s taken ill.”
The room shifts. Whispers ripple outward like a disease. I’m ushered through the crowd, into the office where I last saw him alive. He’s slumped in the chair, his skin grey, mouth slack.
“Jesus,” I mutter, moving to him and taking his hand. It’s already cooling.
“The ambulance has arrived,” Anthony says quietly.
Harry appears in the doorway, concern etched deep. He nudges Nancy toward me, and she reluctantly takes my arm—a performance for anyone watching.
We’re sent back out, surrounded by murmured sympathy, forced patience, and eyes that won’t stop tracking us as the paramedics do exactly what they’ve been paid to do.
Minutes later, one of them steps back out. His face says everything before his head gives a single, solemn shake.
I draw in a sharp breath, turning away, pressing my hands to my face.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Would you like to come back in and sit with him?”
I nod.
Inside, they’re lifting him onto a stretcher, covering him with a white sheet. When the room clears, I pull out my phone, snap a picture, and send it to my uncle.
Me: Your brother is at peace now.
I lean closer, studying my father’s face. Without the rage. Without the power. He’s just another body. A stark reminder that in the end, we all look the same. Rich or poor. Loved or feared.
“Rot in hell, you fucking bastard,” I murmur.
I pull the sheet up over his face and leave.
“Has anyone found my brother?” I ask the room.
“He’s gone,” Anthony replies. “I can take you to him.”
I nod, pushing back into the crowd, accepting condolences, shaking hands, playing the part.
I pause beside Harry. “They’re taking my father to a private hospital,” I say calmly. “Can you take Nancy home? I’ll call later.”
He claps my shoulder. “Of course, son. Don’t worry.”
LEONI
Erik doesn’t touch me. That’s the first thing I notice. He keeps his distance, leaning back against the stone island like he’s got all the time in the world, like this isn’t the moment my life is splitting in two.
“You’re not here because I dragged you,” he says calmly, reading my expression. “You could’ve walked away.”
“I still can,” I reply, though my voice isn’t as steady as I’d like.
“Yes,” he agrees. “But you won’t. Because you already know something doesn’t add up.”
Silence stretches between us. The air feels cool, biting against my skin.
“Say it,” I whisper. “Whatever you’re itching to say.”
Erik exhales slowly, like he’s been holding this in for years. “Your brother didn’t die because he was unlucky.”
