Chapter 3 - The Wolf in Sheep’s ClothingMorning broke over Lake Michigan like a bruised peach, casting long, gray shadows across the penthouse. I sat in my study, nursing a black coffee while reviewing the metadata Naomi had extracted from Arthur’s server.
At 8:00 AM sharp, the private elevator chimed.
Arthur Velez stepped out, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, carrying a leather briefcase that held the executioner's axe disguised as legal stationery. His face wore that familiar, warm, professional smile—the smile of a man who had shared cigars and scotch with me through the birth of my children and the death of my wife.
"Roman," Arthur greeted warmly, walking into the study and extending a hand. "Morning. You look like you didn't sleep a wink. Nerves getting to you before the wedding?"
I didn't take his hand. I stayed seated behind my mahogany desk, my eyes locked onto his. Arthur’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, lowering his hand with a smooth chuckle.
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown, eh? Let's get these papers signed so you can focus on your family."
He popped open his briefcase and laid out a thick stack of vellum paper, flipping expertly to the signature page.
"Right here, Roman. Standard guardianship addendum, granting Camille full administrative and custodial rights in the event of unforeseen circumstances."
I reached out slowly, picking up a heavy Montblanc fountain pen filled with black ink. Arthur watched me, his eyes gleaming with the predatory hunger of a man about to cash a very large check.
"Arthur," I said quietly, unscrewing the cap.
"Yes, old friend?"
"Have you ever wondered what happens to rats when the ship starts to sink?"
Arthur stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
Before he could pull his hand back, I lunged forward, grabbing him by the silk lapels of his suit and slamming him against the reinforced oak bookshelf. Books cascaded to the floor with a thunderous crash. Arthur gasped, his face turning pale as my grip crushed his windpipe.
"Roman! Have you lost your mind?!" he choked out, clawing at my wrists.
"Where is the original draft, Arthur?" I snarled, my voice vibrating with a terrifying, controlled fury. "The one you drew up six months before Camille and I ever crossed paths? The one dated three days before Isabella died?"
Arthur’s eyes dilated in sheer terror. All the color drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse in a bespoke suit.
"I—I don't know what—"
I pressed the barrel of my custom Smith & Wesson directly beneath his chin. The cold steel made him shudder violently.
"Try again, Arthur. Because right now, the only thing keeping you breathing is the fact that I want you to testify in an open court. But if you blink wrong, I won't even wait for a judge."
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Arthur whimpered, his legs trembling. "She—she promised me immunity! She said the syndicate backing her was going to wipe out your entire organization anyway! I had no choice, Roman! They had my family!"
"You had a choice," I whispered, pressing the gun harder. "You chose the losing side."
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