Chapter 133 The Fake Negotiation
Silas adjusted the cuffs of his dark charcoal suit as the iron gates of Everett’s estate groaned open. He sat rigid in the back of the bulletproof sedan, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed by thoughts he didn’t trust. The estate loomed beyond the gates like an old cathedral to corruption, sprawling marble steps, black granite columns, and glass windows that never reflected anything but your lies back at you.
He hadn’t stepped foot here in five years. Not since Everett framed him for the Zurich breach. Not since he watched everything he built collapse with the press of one man's thumb.
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