A Violent Break Inside The Grand Foyer
Brandon’s open palm struck the side of the older man’s face, snapping his wire-rimmed glasses askew.
The force shoved the older man backward against the tall doorway, his hand reaching up to stabilize his frame against the white molding.
Brandon gripped the lapels of the dark tailored suit, leaning forward until his mouth hovered inches from the man’s cheek.
On the sofa across the room, a woman in a black sleeveless dress leaned back into the cushions, balancing a glass of red wine between two fingers.
A thin line of dark red welled at the corner of the older man’s lower lip.
He raised his right index finger, touching the wet streak against his stubble before drawing his finger away to inspect the dark smudge on his skin.
“For bleeding on your carpet?” the older man asked, his voice remaining level while his jaw stayed locked.
Brandon stepped into his space once more, his hand sweeping toward the heavy double doors at the front entrance.
“Get out,” Brandon snapped, his shoulders rigid and chest heaving under his black shirt. “And don’t come back until you respect my wife.”
Departing The Gates In The Dark
The older man took two slow paces back, keeping his chin elevated as he reached for the front buttons of his suit jacket.
He pulled the dark fabric closed, sliding the horn button into its loop with steady fingers.
“Good night, Brandon,” he said, his gaze shifting across the foyer toward the chandelier above.
Without turning back toward the sitting room, he pushed the double doors open and stepped into the cool evening air.
Outside, the grand residence loomed against the dark sky, exterior ground lights casting long shadows across tall white columns.
A blue vintage sedan waited on the paved circular drive, its rear red lights cutting through the darkness.
The engine turned over with a deep, low rumble, the exhaust sending a pale vapor into the night air as the tires rolled across the pavers.
Inside the vehicle, the dashboard gauges cast a soft green glow across the driver’s profile.
He did not check the rearview mirror as the large gates slipped past behind the bumper.
His hands rested at the ten and two positions on the thin steering wheel, his knuckles firm against the grip as the sedan turned onto the main avenue.
Entering The Private Study
Miles away from the estate, the car pulled into a private garage beneath a quiet brick building.
Heavy wooden doors swung inward to reveal a high-ceilinged room lined from floor to ceiling with leather-bound legal volumes.
A single green banker’s lamp glowed beside an engraved plaque bearing the name Redwood Capital Holdings.
The older man walked directly to the dark mahogany desk, sliding his keys onto the leather blotter.
Beside the lamp sat an open velvet presentation box containing an untouched steel wristwatch with a black face.
He pulled out the high-backed leather chair, easing down behind the wide desk without removing his coat.
He lifted the lid of a slim laptop, the screen illuminating his graying hair and the dried line of blood along his chin.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a brief second before pressing down on the keys in rapid, measured strokes.
“It ends tonight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on the glowing letters appearing across the dark monitor.
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