Max Hastings sat at his desk, nursing a glass of bourbon. The amber liquid caught the light from the single bulb hanging overhead, casting a warm glow that belied the cold steel resolve in his eyes. The city outside his window was a dark tapestry of secrets and sins, and tonight he was prepared to tear through it, stitch by stitch.
He was running on fumes, but the thought of Rachel and her daughter fueled his determination. The Broker had made it personal, and Max wasn't about to let that slide. He'd spent the last few hours piecing together their next move, a delicate dance of strategy and brute force.
The knock on his door was sharp, a staccato beat that pulled him from his thoughts. He didn't need to guess who it was. Evelyn slipped inside, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light before she closed the door behind her.
"Got your message," she said, taking a seat opposite him. "You've got a plan?"
