Chapter 1: The Extraction "...left handprints around her throat?" I finished, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that seemed to freeze the air in the room. The ambient chatter of the Easter party outside the study door faded into a dull, meaningless hum.

Chapter 13: Eleanor's Demise

Eleanor, always the pragmatic survivor, didn't wait around to see her son burn. The moment the news broke, she packed three massive suitcases full of designer clothes and jewelry and tried to quietly charter a private jet to a non-extradition sanctuary in Zurich.

I didn't have to lay a single finger on her. The cartel's reach was incredibly long, and they were merciless when they felt insulted. According to the panicked police chatter I intercepted later that evening, her luxury towncar was violently run off a mountain road on the way to the private airfield. It rolled three times before bursting into flames. The official police report would classify it as a tragic, fatal hit-and-run.

When Richard got the news of his mother's sudden death while sitting in his cold federal holding cell, the remaining color drained from his life. He finally understood the crushing gravity of the ocean he was drowning in. He hastily posted a ten-million-dollar cash bail the next morning. He was out, but he was a walking ghost with a target on his back.