The city slept uneasily, its streets whispering with rumors of shifting power. Behind shuttered windows and candlelit rooms, three men carried the same weight differently: Troy Mendez, Carlos Suarez, and Terry. Each moved in the same game, but each with his own ghosts, ambitions, and scars.
Troy
Troy sat alone in his office, a glass of brandy untouched at his elbow. The ledger lay open, numbers bleeding across the page like wounds.
He had built everything with his hands. No inheritance, no favors, no father to guide him. Theodore had refused him wealth, influence, and guidance.
Sweat, cunning, and ruthlessness were the foundation of his empire. Every grain shipment, every wagon, every deal inked in backroom taverns all bore his mark. And now, it was unraveling.
He told himself he was not afraid. Fear was for men without options. But he felt the cracks widening. Partners whispered behind his back. Shipments went astray. Merchants hesitated at his name.
