The leather of the Maybach was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the humid grief I'd left behind at the parlor. The car moved smoothly along the mountain road, obedient and quiet. Elias drove the way he always did precise, disciplined, invisible.
I trusted him.
That alone should have made me cautious.
The funeral replayed in my mind, every lie neatly packaged and priced, when my phone vibrated. Unknown number.
In my world, numbers were screened, traced, and erased. An unknown call wasn't an accident. It was intent.
I answered. "Speak."
"I'm sorry, son," a voice rasped through the line. Distorted, filtered but familiar enough to tighten something behind my eyes. "If you had agreed to the merger, none of this would be necessary."
The call ended.
No threats. No negotiations. Just a concluded transaction.
I didn't feel fear. Fear was inefficient. What I felt was irritation the sharp awareness of a variable I hadn't fully controlled.
"Sir," Elias said quietly. "Something's wrong."
That was the first time he'd ever said it.
The headlights ahead flared.
Gunfire shattered the windshield.
The sound came first. Then the impact.
Elias's head snapped violently to the side as the bullet tore through him. There was no scream, no hesitation just an abrupt absence where a man had been. His foot slipped off the pedal. The car lurched.
I grabbed the wheel, wrenching it hard as the Maybach screamed against the guardrail, sparks tearing through the night. We skidded sideways, stopping at a brutal angle inches from the cliff.
Silence fell.
Elias slumped forward, blood spreading across the leather.
He hadn't betrayed me.He hadn't frozen.
He had done his job.
I catalogued the loss and swallowed it whole before it could become something useless.
Engines approached.
Three black SUVs rolled in slowly, deliberately, sealing the road like a closing ledger. Doors opened in unison. Men stepped out with rifles and the calm posture of professionals.
At their center stood Richard Rocks.
Granite posture. Silver cane. A man who confused longevity with dominance.
And beside him Claire.
My wife.
She stepped forward, silk dress whispering against the gravel. Perfect posture. Perfect hair. Not a flicker of hesitation. She looked the way she always did when a decision had already been made.
"So," she said lightly, as if we were meeting for dinner instead of an execution. "This is how it ends."
I glanced at her, then at Richard. "You didn't waste time," I said. "I respect that."
Richard smiled. "Efficiency is a virtue you taught us."
Claire tilted her head, studying me like an asset she'd already liquidated. "You were warned," she said. "You should have listened."
"You confuse warning with negotiation," I replied. "A mistake you've always made."
Her lips tightened. "You never understood compromise."
"No," I said calmly. "I understood it perfectly. I just refused to practice it."
She crossed her arms. "You forced my hand."
I looked at her for a long moment. Twenty-two years collapsed into a single conclusion.
"As always," I said, my voice steady, "you sold yourself to the highest bidder."
The words landed.
Her eyes hardened. "That's not fair."
I smiled faintly, blood warm in my mouth. "It's accurate."
Richard chuckled. "You always mistook possession for loyalty."
I shifted my gaze to him. "And you mistake ownership for permanence."
Claire stepped closer, anger finally cracking her polish. "You think you're better than us? You think money makes you untouchable?"
"No," I said. "I think money reveals what people already are."
Silence stretched.
Then she laughed sharp, defensive. "You were never enough. Not emotionally. Not as a husband."
I glanced at Elias's body, then back at her. "You stayed for twenty-two years," I said. "That wasn't love. That was patience."
Richard's phone rang.
He turned away to answer it, already disengaging conversation closed in his mind.
That arrogance that assumption of closure was his only mistake.
I saw it then.
Elias's sidearm. Half-hidden beneath the seat. Forgotten. Loyal to the end.
I reached for it as Richard spoke into his phone. Fingers slick with blood. Grip cold. Familiar.
I didn't aim at the guards.I didn't aim at Claire.
I aimed at Richard.
"Richard!" Claire screamed.
Gunfire erupted.
The impact was immediate and final. Bullets tore into my chest, shredding breath and balance, hurling me backward. I never pulled the trigger.
I hit the ground hard, staring up at a sky bruised purple and black.
As sensation drained away, one thought settled in not grief, not rage.
I lost a valuable asset tonight.
That was the regret.
Darkness closed in.