The velvet darkness of my study offered no comfort, only a suffocating stillness broken by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

The silence inside the bank vault was absolute, broken only by the hum of the air filtration system. In the reflection of the laptop screen, I watched Victor’s suppressed pistol clear his leather holster.

Fifteen years of brotherhood, burned away in a single second.

I didn't flinch. I had survived three assassination attempts, two street wars, and a federal indictment. I hadn't built the Whitaker empire by being slow.

Instead of turning to face him, I slammed the heavy metal lid of the safety deposit box backward with violent force. The steel box struck Victor squarely in the face, the crunch of his breaking nose echoing through the small room.

Victor let out a muffled grunt, his shot firing wild and striking the concrete floor with a muted thump.

Before he could recover, I pivoted on my heel, driving my elbow hard into his solar plexus. Victor stumbled back against the bank of safety deposit boxes, blood pouring from his nose, but he was a seasoned killer. He swung the pistol toward my chest.

I grabbed his wrist, twisting it inward until the bone popped. He gasped, dropping the weapon. I swept his leg out from under him, slamming his massive body onto the cold stone floor, and planted my knee directly onto his throat.

I picked up the silenced pistol from the floor and aimed it directly between his eyes.

Victor lay there, wheezing, blood trickling down his jaw into his collar, yet a bitter, mocking smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"You're... too late, Andrew," Victor rasped, his eyes burning with malice. "You think... I'm working alone?"

"Who else?" I demanded, pressing my knee harder against his windpipe. "Who paid you to play Julian? Who sent those photos to CPS?"

"Julian... came back to town two weeks ago," Victor wheezed, choking on his own blood. "He thought... he could trade the USB drive... for Hannah’s safety. I told him... I’d help him. I set up the meeting... at the docks tonight."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "And the grocery store?"

"I tipped off... the old neighbor," Victor sneered. "Told her to call you... when Hannah collapsed. I wanted those kids in your house, Andrew. CPS... is just the distraction. Right now... my men are hitting your estate."

The world seemed to spin on its axis.

The estate. Sophie. Mason. Noah.

Mrs. Gable was an elderly housekeeper. Harrison was a lawyer. The guards left at the house were Victor’s men—loyal to his payroll, not mine.

"You bastard," I whispered.

"They aren't going to kill the kids, Andrew," Victor chuckled darkly, blood spraying from his lips. "They're collateral. Julian will give up... every piece of evidence he has... if we hold his children. And once he gives it up... we kill all of you. The Whitaker empire... belongs to us now."

I didn't hesitate. I pulled the trigger.

The quiet pop of the silenced pistol ended Victor’s betrayal forever.

I stood up, wiping the blood from my cuff, and grabbed the USB drive, the journal, and the key. I bolted out of the private vault room into the main corridor. The bank manager and the vault attendant were nowhere to be seen—likely paid off or scared away by Victor’s men.

I burst out the front doors of the bank into the bright afternoon sunlight. The two guards I had left outside were standing by the SUV, looking at their phones.

The moment they saw me emerge alone, covered in blood, their hands darted toward their jackets.

I didn't give them the chance. I fired twice through my coat pocket. Both men collapsed onto the sidewalk before the lunch-rush crowd even realized what had happened.

I sprinted to the driver’s side of the armored SUV, threw myself behind the wheel, and slammed my foot onto the accelerator. The heavy vehicle roared to life, tires screeching as I tore through the streets of downtown Milwaukee toward my estate in River Hills.

Ten miles. Fifteen minutes.

I pulled out my encrypted phone and dialed the only man in the city I knew I could trust—Detective Marcus Kane of the Milwaukee Police Department. Kane was a clean cop, an old-school detective who had tried to put me behind bars for a decade, but he was a man of absolute integrity.

"Whitaker?" Kane’s voice barked through the speaker. "I'm in the middle of a homicide investigation, what do you—"

"Kane, listen to me very carefully," I cut in, weaving through heavy traffic at eighty miles per hour. "I have evidence of a massive federal corruption scheme and a criminal syndicate operating in River Hills. But right now, my home is being invaded by armed mercenaries. There are three children inside—a six-year-old girl and two four-month-old infants."

There was a beat of stunned silence on the other end.

"Are you telling me the truth, Andrew?" Kane asked, his tone shifting instantly from annoyed to deadly serious.

"If those children are harmed, I will turn this city into a warzone, Kane," I snarled into the phone. "Send SWAT to my address. Now."

"I'm on it. Ten minutes."

I slammed the phone onto the passenger seat and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

As the iron gates of my River Hills estate came into view, my heart sank into my stomach.

The heavy wrought-iron gates were swung wide open. The security booth at the entrance was shattered, the guard lying motionless inside. Smoke was rising from the side entrance of the main house.