"The target is dead, sir."
Mark’s voice came through the secure earpiece, fighting the static of an active crime scene.
Christian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse study. The digital clock on the desk read 3:14 AM. He stared out at the dark grid of Manhattan, his reflection faint against the ballistic glass.
"Report," Christian said.
"A fourth-floor walk-up in Queens," Mark relayed, his boots crunching over debris in the background. "Rented under a dummy LLC for sixty months. The local fire department is outside right now. They are officially classifying it as a household gas leak. The stove valve was tampered with, filling the unit while the occupant slept."
Christian rested his free hand against the cold window frame. "Time of death?"
"The coroner estimates rou
