Chapter 3

  The car door opens.

  Dad steps in, all business. Dark hair tied back neatly, a small bun at the end. Designer suit sharp enough to scream Italian mafia. I can tell he has an important meeting today.

  I hand him his cigar, as ritual demands. Without a word, he takes it, placing it between his lips. Habit, I suppose. I flick the lighter; smoke curls around us, rich and heavy. The scent mixes with his cologne—expensive enough to pay four months of my allowance. I wonder… do other sons do this for their fathers, or is it just the Stone family?

  “Eli… you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  The door shuts.

  The car pulls out, tires gripping the asphalt. Neighboring houses blur past too fast to focus on—people turn into shapes and suggestions. We hit the main street; the city stretches by in a flash.

  Thomas drives like a man born on a racetrack. Twenty minutes to school becomes eight. The air smells of cigars, cologne, and the faint hum of the engine.

  We arrive. Minimal words exchanged. That’s a good enough goodbye in the Stone family.

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  “Remember to come by the office today. Dinner at seven.”

  “Understood.”

  I had forgotten today is a Thursday in that month—the month my mom supposedly died. At least tonight’s dinner might actually taste nice.

  As I step out of the car and head toward the school gate, I see familiar faces. I guess my friends also arrived early.

  I look back and the car is already racing away. I guess someone’s eager to get to work today. I head toward school, mind half on class, half on dinner later.

  5 minutes later

  Ring.Ring.Ring.Click.

  "Mr. Thomas, sir, what can I help you with?”

  “Diana, has my 8:30 arrived yet? I’m almost at the office. Prepare a welcome envoy. You know how much these silver-suited quacks love having their egos stroked.”

  “Indeed, sir… but they’ve rescheduled for 5:00 p.m.”

  An angry exhale.

  “Of course they did. These… Liberi…”

  Ridiculous. Day after day, people seem to want to make his job impossible. Especially the Kravitz lately. Bloody quacks.

  Thomas grips the steering wheel tighter. The car, already moving like an F1 vehicle, surges forward. Every gear shift pulses with his impatience.

  He arrives at the bank earlier than usual. Employees notice immediately. No VIP entrance today—he comes through the front. Silence falls. Questions flood their minds: why break routine? Why look like he’s ready to murder someone?

  Time stretches. Each footstep steals a breath. Some call it adrenaline. Others, awe. The seasoned staff know better: this is Thomas’s presence—intimidation intensified by a ruined schedule.

  He notices the stares. Normally he’d ignore them, but today he’s especially sour.

  He stops in front of the elevator as the doors open… and waits.Lets the tension brew.A full minute of suspense and quiet torture.

  Then, without turning, without acknowledging the frozen staff, he says:

  “All of you… is this your first time meeting me? Why are you all staring daggers? I wasn’t aware the bank was struggling so badly that work has become… scarce.”

  The words hang. Silence swallows the room.

  He steps inside the elevator and rides straight to the top floor—his office.

  Panic floods the entire floor. Workers realize they’ve just signed away their lunch breaks and enlisted themselves for unpaid overtime.None of them complain.They brought it upon themselves.

  Starting in Chapter 4, the pacing picks up as events spiral into violence, and the darker elements of the story become the norm.

  Hope you enjoy what’s coming next.