Nyman Banks entered Kelan’s private box in the dimly lit nightclub, the air thick with the smell of expensive cigars and spilled liquor. Music thumped in the background, but inside the glass-walled room, the sound was muted, creating a bubble of tense quiet. Nyman’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the opulence—the plush leather seats, the low amber lighting, and Kelan Benedict lounging like a king on his throne.Kelan didn’t bother to look up as Nyman entered. Instead, he tossed a crumpled newspaper across the table. The headline screamed back at Nyman: DRAGON CORPORATION BOARD MEMBERS INDICTED—CORRUPTION AND CRIME EXPOSED. The photos of David Grain, Walter Kagan, and Ron Sophel were plastered under the bold letters, their faces marked with the wear of men whose dirty secrets had been dragged into the light.“That bitch Kerrigan is mucking up my plans,” Kelan spat, his voice dripping with fury. “Please tell me you have some good news.”Nyman hesitated, feeling the weight of Kelan’s a
The sun was high in the sky as Conor and Kerrigan entered the offices of Dreadnaught Law and Vokrizin’s current headquarters, their steps light with anticipation. Today’s agenda was packed, but Mr. Nuri’s urgent call had shifted their plans.The office buzzed with the usual hum of legal staff rushing between meetings, but there was an unmistakable air of excitement in the air. Mr. Nuri rarely sounded this energized, and that alone was enough to stir their curiosity.Sorcha was on duty, sticking close to Kerrigan’s side as her vigilant shadow, while Parker kept a watchful eye on Conor. The team was sharp and attentive, the weight of recent events leaving no room for complacency. They all knew that every small victory mattered in their fight against the Benedicts.The pair was led through the sleek, glass-walled corridors of Nuri’s law firm, past assistants and paralegals who paused to give respectful nods. They finally reached Nuri’s private office, a space that was both grand and inti
Nyman Banks pulled into the driveway of his parents’ sprawling estate, the setting sun casting long shadows over the meticulously manicured lawn. The house, a stately mansion that screamed old money, stood tall and proud against the backdrop of Jinstain's urban sprawl. To the untrained eye, it was the epitome of luxury, but Nyman knew better. The foundation was beginning to crumble, and he wasn’t just talking about the building.As he stepped out of his sleek, black sports car, he noticed something unusual—boxes. Lots of them, stacked haphazardly on the front porch. The front door was ajar, and through the opening, he could see more boxes scattered across the foyer. His mother, Sandra Banks, was known for her composure, her relentless control over every aspect of her life, and for always maintaining an appearance of calm, no matter the circumstances. Seeing the house in disarray was a shock.Nyman frowned as he approached the door, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach.
Kerrigan leaned back in her seat, glancing out the tinted windows of the SUV as it weaved through the bustling streets of Jinstain. Today’s plans were a deliberate escape from the relentless tension that had gripped their lives—meetings, lawsuits, and the looming threat of the Benedicts.She needed a reprieve, a chance to reconnect with something that brought her peace. Today, she was determined to take that break, and she knew just the place.Sorcha sat beside her, ever vigilant, her sharp eyes flickering between the road ahead and the side mirrors. Evelynn was driving, her usual carefree demeanor tempered by the gravity of their surroundings.Kerrigan couldn’t help but notice how Sorcha’s posture softened slightly, the tension easing just a bit as they moved farther from the heart of the city.“Where are we headed today, my lady?” Sorcha asked, her voice laced with curiosity.Kerrigan smiled, turning to her with a lightness that had been absent for weeks. “A small violin shop I ador
Kerrigan woke in her Jinstain estate bed, the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains, casting soft patterns across the room.She stretched, feeling the slight ache in her muscles, but as her hand swept across the sheets, she frowned. Conor’s side of the bed was cold. Disappointment tugged at her as she sat up, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes.She dressed quickly, pulling on a loose blouse and fitted jeans. The house was unusually quiet as she made her way down the grand staircase, the faint hum of voices pulling her toward the kitchen.As she rounded the corner, she found her entire team gathered, hunched over Reilynn's tablet, their faces illuminated by the screen’s blue glow. The air was thick with tension, the usual morning banter replaced by somber silence.Kerrigan’s heart quickened. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice breaking the uneasy quiet.The team parted slightly, allowing her to see the video playing on the tablet. It was a news report from
Kelan Benedict sat in the dimly lit private lounge of his club in Velyki, nursing a glass of bourbon that had long since lost its allure. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, a far cry from the usual buzz of illicit deals and hushed conversations.Tonight, the club was quiet, almost suffocatingly so. Kelan’s eyes were fixed on the wide screen in front of him, where the evening news anchor was delivering the latest headlines.Each word felt like a punch to his gut.The screen flickered, showing the smoldering remains of the violin shop once owned by Master Luthier Gunther—a beloved artisan whose work Kerrigan Lokir had praised on numerous occasions. The news anchor spoke in a grave tone, highlighting the loss of one of Velyki’s cultural treasures.Kelan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The fire hadn’t been his doing, but the timing was damning. It didn’t take much for the media to spin it as another example of his reckless disregard for anything not serving his own ambitions.“This
The morning air carried a crisp chill as Conor, Kerrigan, and Sorcha stepped out of the SUV, their boots crunching on the gravel driveway of the once-beautiful violin shop.Smoke and charred wood lingered in the air, the acrid scent of loss and devastation permeating the quiet street.The shop that had once been filled with the soothing strains of masterful violins and the soft murmur of customers was now nothing but a blackened skeleton, its heart and soul reduced to ashes.Master Gunther, the elderly luthier who had built the shop from the ground up, stood at the edge of the rubble, his shoulders slumped. The faint sound of creaking timbers echoed as a light wind blew through the remains, carrying away fragments of the past.His hands, usually steady and confident, trembled slightly as he ran a hand over what was left of the carved sign that had hung proudly above his door for decades.The sign was barely readable now, scorched and broken, like a cruel reminder of the destruction wr
Cynthia Cochan stared at the thick stack of papers on the kitchen table, her manicured fingers tapping impatiently. The morning sunlight streamed through the large bay windows, casting a harsh glare on the bleak reality before her.The once-thriving Cochan Mall was teetering on the edge of collapse, and every page in front of her detailed just how precarious their financial situation had become.It was a bitter pill to swallow, one made worse by the strained silence between her and her husband, who sat across the table with a furrowed brow.They were waiting for Abbie Wiess, the representative from Golan National Bank. Cynthia’s nerves were frayed, and her distaste for the meeting was evident.The bank’s offer was the first real interest anyone had shown in months, but there was a sting in knowing that they were being targeted as a bargain investment, prey for the vultures circling their struggling business.Jessica Cochan leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone absent