đź“‘PROLOGUE
CREWE'S POINT OF VIEW
There are many ways to lose four million dollars.
You can invest them in the wrong place.
You can trust an incompetent partner.
You can become the victim of bad luck.
But when a man deliberately tries to deceive you, it is no longer a financial loss.
It is a declaration of war.
I stood before the bay window of my residence in the Shetland Islands, watching the North Atlantic crash violently against the cliffs with primitive fury. The wind howled like a raging beast, shaking the thick castle windows. The sea knew neither remorse nor mercy. It took whatever it wanted, swallowed without justification, destroyed without apology.
I have always respected the sea for that.
It never pretends to be anything other than what it is.
Joseph, however, had dared to lie to me while looking me straight in the eye.
He had introduced himself as a businessman, a cold and calculating professional. He had accepted my terms, shaken my hand, promised payment. Then he handed me carefully counterfeited bills, believing I would never notice.
What offended me was not the attempted theft.
It was the arrogance.
In my world, money moves, alliances shift, men die. But reputation must never waver. If I allowed an insult like that to go unpunished, I would become prey. And I have never been prey.
So I investigated.
Not his bank accounts.
Not his associates.
What he loved.
He had only one real weakness. One person capable of making him tremble.
His sister.
London.
Brilliant. Promising. A medical student in New York. A young woman with a future already mapped out, still untouched, still clean from the ugliness of our world.
I studied her photos without emotion. Large determined eyes. Proud lips. A straight posture.
She did not look like a victim.
That was precisely why she would do perfectly.
I did not want Joseph's money.
I wanted him alive.
I wanted him to wake up every day knowing that his mistake had destroyed the life of the only person he truly loved.
I wanted his guilt to weigh heavier than any debt ever could.
When the helicopter took off for New York, I felt neither hesitation nor remorse.
In my universe, justice is not written with laws.
It is written with sacrifices.
LONDON'S POINT OF VIEW
The night my life changed looked nothing out of the ordinary.
I had fallen asleep exhausted, surrounded by medical textbooks and annotated notes. The smell of cold coffee still lingered in my apartment. Manhattan's lights filtered through the curtains, casting shifting shadows across the walls.
I thought my biggest problem was a pathology exam.
I had no idea the real danger was not inside my books, but behind my door.
I woke up with that strange feeling of being watched. The silence was too thick, almost artificial. Even the city seemed to be holding its breath.
Then I heard a sound.
A faint scrape.
A footstep.
I sat upright in bed, my heart pounding so hard I felt like it would betray me by echoing through the room. I reached for my phone. No signal.
That was when I understood this was not a coincidence.
My bedroom door handle slowly turned.
Three men entered.
They did not shout. They did not run. They moved with the calm certainty of men who already knew the game was won.
I fought back.
I do not remember every movement clearly, only the instinct. I hit, scratched, bit. I tasted the metallic flavor of blood in my mouth. I tried reaching the drawer where I kept a small kitchen knife.
But you do not win against three trained men.
One hand restrained my wrists. Another held my head still.
The injection in my neck was quick.
A burning sensation.
Then the world dissolved.
In the last seconds of consciousness I had left, I thought about my brother.
Joseph.
I did not know why his face forced itself into my mind.
Maybe somewhere deep inside, I already knew this nightmare was not only about me.
TO BE CONTINUED....❤️
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