Victor paced his study like a caged tiger, his expensive shoes wearing an invisible path in the plush carpet. The phone in his hand remained silent, a mocking reminder of Jordan's continued absence. He had tried calling for the eighth time, each attempt met with the same result—straight to voicemail.
"Damn it," Victor muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Where the hell are you, Jordan?"
He glanced at his watch—11:34 PM. Jordan should have called by now. Should have reported in. Should have found Miguel.
The knock at the door was tentative, almost hesitant. Victor knew before it opened that it would be bad news.
Gerald entered, his massive frame filling the doorway. The years had softened his physique but not his presence. His weathered face was grim, the deep lines around his mo
