Rain lashed the panoramic windows of Obsidian Tower's penthouse, distorting Cresthaven's skyline into a watercolor nightmare. Leo Vance stood silhouetted against the storm, his reflection a ghost overlaid on the glittering grid of streets below. In his hand, the black phone felt heavier than the nine hundred million dollars it controlled.
"Payment due: $2.3 million. 5:00 PM. Failure incurs… additional interest."
The Volkov syndicate's text had hit Richard Hart's phone at 3:07 AM. Leo knew. He'd watched the live feed.
---
5:02 AM | Hart Residence, Harmony Heights
Richard Hart stared at his phone, the blue light bleaching his face. Panic sweat glued his silk pajamas to his skin. $2.3 million. Due in twelve hours. He'd already called every investor, every golf buddy, every mistress with an allowance.
"Sorry, Richard. Market's tight."
"My liquidity's frozen, old chap."
"Don't call me again."
Beatrice hovered in the doorway, clutching her robe. "Well? Who's lending?"
Richard hurled his crystal tumbler. It exploded against the marble fireplace. "No one! Volkov's thugs will skin me alive!"
Evelyn appeared on the stairs, emerald earrings catching the gloom. "Father?"
"Stay out of this!" Richard roared, jabbing a finger at her. "This is your trash husband's fault! His failure sucked the luck from this family!"
Evelyn flinched. For a heartbeat, Leo's bruised face flashed in her mind—his eyes meeting hers as the guards dragged him out. She'd said nothing. Done nothing. The memory was an open wound.
---
7:15 AM | Obsidian Tower, Penthouse
Leo watched Richard's meltdown on a split screen. Silas stood beside him, holding a dossier thicker than a bible.
"Volkov's enforcer is Ivan Petrovich," Silas stated. "Specializes in public… demonstrations. He'll make Richard kneel outside his hotel at five. Break him before the evening news."
Leo didn't turn from the window. "And if Richard pays?"
"He can't. His last asset is the Cresthaven Grand. Even if he sold it today, the deal would take weeks." Silas paused. "Petrovich prefers humiliation first. Broken bones after."
A cold smile touched Leo's lips. Humiliation first. How fitting. He tapped the black phone. "Has Phoenix Holdings bought the debt?"
"Confirmed at 6:48 AM. Richard Hart now owes you $2.3 million."
"Send the terms," Leo said, his voice glacial. "Identical to Volkov's. Except the payment location."
Silas's eyebrow lifted. "Where?"
Leo turned. His eyes were arctic.
"The same dumpsters where he threw me away."
---
9:30 AM | Cresthaven Grand Hotel - Richard's Office
Richard stared at the new text, blood roaring in his ears.
> PHOENIX HOLDINGS
> $2.3M DUE TODAY 5:00 PM
> PAYMENT LOCATION: DOCK ALLEY BINS (HARMONY HEIGHTS)
> FAILURE = LEGAL FORECLOSURE + PUBLIC DEFAULT
"Phoenix Holdings?" Richard whispered. *Who were they?* Why demand payment at that stinking alley? A competitor mocking him? A rival?
His intercom buzzed. "Mr. Hart? A Mr. Frost is here. Says it's urgent."
Sebastian Frost swept in without waiting, his charcoal suit costing more than Richard's car. Frost was Obsidian Global's youngest VP—a shark with a mathematician's mind.
"Heard you're drowning, Richard," Frost said, smiling thinly. He tossed a tablet on the desk. Stock charts spiked violently. "See this? Someone dumped $900 million into a ghost company called *Phoenix Holdings* overnight. Untraceable. Liquid."
Richard's heart stopped. $900 million?
Frost leaned close, his voice dropping. "Whoever owns Phoenix just bought your debt from Volkov. They're playing with you, Richard. But I want them." He tapped the tablet. "Help me find Phoenix… and I'll make your debt disappear."
Hope, vicious and sudden, flared in Richard's chest. "How?"
"Set the trap," Frost murmured. "Go to the dumpsters at five. Record everything. Whoever shows to collect… is Phoenix."
---
4:55 PM | Dock Alley Trash Bins
Rain had turned the alley into a slick, reeking river. Richard stood trembling beside the overflowing bins, the stench of rotting fish and wet garbage choking him. His $5,000 suit was soaked.
*This is where they dumped him*, Richard realized with dawning horror. *Where that trash Leo lay*. Was this punishment? Coincidence?
Headlights speared the gloom. A black SUV slid to a stop. Ivan Petrovich stepped out—a mountain of muscle, knuckles scarred, eyes dead. Two thugs flanked him.
"No money, Mr. Hart?" Petrovich's voice was gravel.
"I—I have a deal!" Richard stammered. "Sebastian Frost at Obsidian—"
Petrovich backhanded him. Richard crashed into the bins, garbage slopping over his shoes.
"Volkov doesn't wait for deals," Petrovich snarled. "Phoenix owns your debt now. They want payment. *Here*." He grabbed Richard's hair, forcing him to his knees in the filthy water. "Beg."
Richard's phone buzzed in his pocket. Frost's hidden recorder was running. *Evidence*. But terror swamped him.
"P-Please…" Richard choked. "Tell Phoenix… I'll pay double! Triple!"
Petrovich laughed. "Not to me. To *them*." He yanked Richard's head toward the SUV's tinted window.
The rear window slid down.
Inside, shadowed by the gloom, sat a figure. Face obscured. But Richard saw the gleam of eyes watching him—cold, pitiless, *familiar*.
*"Who are you?"* Richard whispered.
A hand emerged from the window. Not offering mercy. Holding a phone.
Richard's own phone rang. Unknown number. With trembling fingers, he answered.
A voice came through, digitally distorted but dripping with icy contempt:
"You called my wife's beauty 'wasted.' You called me 'trash.' Look where you kneel now, Richard."
Richard froze. No. Impossible.
"L-Leo?"
The voice sharpened, becoming a knife.
"Beg properly. Or Ivan takes three fingers before sunset."
Petrovich grinned, pulling a cleaver from his coat.
Richard Hart, king of Cresthaven's social scene, broke. Sobs wracked him as he pressed his forehead into the filthy pavement.
"Please! Leo, I'm sorry! I'll give you anything! Evelyn! The hotel! Just don't let them—"
The line went dead. The SUV window slid up. The vehicle pulled away, leaving Richard weeping in the garbage.
Petrovich spat. "Pathetic." He raised the cleaver. "Volkov says *interest* is still due—"
SCREECH!
A silver Porsche skidded into the alley. Sebastian Frost leapt out, phone raised. "Got you, Phoenix! Police are inbound! Release him!"
Petrovich snarled, but Frost's glare was steel. "Touch him, and Obsidian Global buries Volkov in lawsuits. Walk. Now."
The thugs hesitated, then vanished into the SUV. It roared away.
Frost hauled Richard up, disgusted. "Who was in that car, Richard? Who is Phoenix?"
Richard trembled, staring at the spot where the SUV vanished.
"A ghost," he whispered. "A monster I made."
---
5:30 PM | Obsidian Tower
Leo watched the replay on screen: Richard weeping, Frost's interference. Silas stood stiffly. "Frost shouldn't have been there. Our intel failed."
Leo sipped bourbon, unperturbed. "Frost is smarter than Richard. Good. More satisfying to break."
"And Richard?"
Leo's smile was a razor cut. "He begged. He knows it's me. That terror will fester." He turned, eyes glinting. "But Volkov still wants their 'interest.' Send Petrovich back tonight."
Silas frowned. "Richard is ruined. Is more necessary?"
Leo's gaze fell on a security feed showing Evelyn. She sat alone in the Hart mansion's dark library, clutching a framed wedding photo—their photo.
"Yes," Leo said softly, coldly.
"Because I want Evelyn to hear him scream."