Chapter 6 - The Neighbor in the ShadowsArthur Sterling swirled a glass of vintage 1945 Bordeaux, staring out his floor-to-ceiling window at the glowing New York skyline. At sixty-five, Arthur was a master of corporate warfare, a man who believed that sentimentality was a disease and family was merely a liability.
He took a slow sip, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his thin lips.
The little brats had made it inside. He had seen them on the lobby cameras earlier. He had expected Meredith to handle them more cleanly, but the aristocratic fool had panicked. No matter. Clara was already in the ground, and without proof, the little bastards were just a temporary nuisance. Once Edward left for the London summit next week, Arthur’s security team would quietly relocate the twins to a state orphanage upstate, permanently cutting off any loose ends.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Arthur frowned, checking his Rolex. It was 4:15 A.M. Who the hell knocks on a penthouse door at this hour?
He set his wine glass down on the marble bar, smoothed his silk bathrobe, and walked over to the private foyer. He peered through the security peephole.
There was no one standing in the hallway.
"Incompetent room service," Arthur muttered, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling the door open. "Listen here, if you—"
A heavy, gloved hand shot out of the shadows, gripping the lapels of Arthur’s silk robe with crushing force. Before the older man could even draw breath, he was yanked forward, hurled across the threshold of his own foyer, and slammed violently against the opposite wall.
The wind blasted out of Arthur’s lungs in a wet gasp.
As he slid down the wall, clutching his ribs, he looked up into a face carved out of pure, unadulterated hell.
Edward Haynes stood over him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded muscles and knuckles bruised purple. His eyes were completely black in the dim hallway light.
"E-Edward..." Arthur choked out, struggling for air. "What... what is the meaning of this? Have you lost your mind?"
Edward slowly crouched down until his face was inches from Arthur’s sweating, terrified brow.
"Where is the ledger, Arthur?" Edward whispered, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates.
"L-Ledger? I don't know what you're talking about..."
Edward didn't yell. He simply reached out, grabbed Arthur’s right index finger, and bent it backward until a sickening pop echoed through the hallway.
May you like
Arthur shrieked, a high-pitched, animalistic sound of pure agony.
"The ledger," Edward repeated, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The one where you recorded every transaction, every bribe paid to the hospital, and every dollar funneled into the poisoning of Clara Vance. Where is it?"
