THE OTHER SIDE OF DAYLIGHT
1120 Words
Morning arrived in New York without apology.
Sunlight cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Marcus Terrell's penthouse, pale gold and deceptively gentle. The rain from the night before had washed the streets clean, leaving the city looking almost innocent. Almost.
Marcus stood barefoot on cool marble floors, staring at the skyline with a cup of untouched coffee in his hand. From this height, the city looked manageable, orderly and predictable. It was a lie he allowed himself only during daylight.
He dressed with precision.
Tailored charcoal suit. Crisp white shirt.
Cufflinks shaped like small, understated knots of silver. His watch, custom rare, slid onto his wrist like a final seal. By the time he stepped into the elevator, Night Marcus was buried so deep beneath between layers of polish that even memory struggled to reach him.
By nine a.m., Marcus Terrell was exactly who the world believed him to be.
The Terrell Atelier sat on a quiet, expensive street in Manhattan, shielded from noise by money and good taste. Inside, the scent of leather lingered rich,clean, intoxicating. Handcrafted pieces lined the walls, each tagged with numbers most people couldn't afford to say out loud.
"Good morning, Mr. Terrell,” his assistant said, rising instantly.
“Morning.” Marcus replied smoothly, already moving.
The staff watched him with admiration. Clients trusted him. Investors respected him. No one here saw danger when they looked at Marcus Terrell. They saw refinement, and success.
A private client arrived shortly after. An international buyer with soft hands and sharp eyes. They spoke of shipments, sourcing, exclusivity. Marcus smiled when appropriate. Listened more than he spoke.
“Supply has become…complicated lately.” The man said lightly.
Marcus met his gaze, unbothered. “The best things always are.”
The man laughed, unaware of how many meanings that sentence carried.The meeting ended with a handshake and promises of quality as usual. Marcus watched the man leave before turning towards his office. He closed the door behind him and allowed his smile to fade.
The phone on his desk vibrated once.
Then again,
Marcus didn't look at it immediately. He poured himself water instead, letting the silence stretch. When he finally checked the screen, the message waiting there wasn't any other than Terence.
Terrance.
CALL ME NOW!!
Marcus' jaw tightened. Terrance knew better to bring matters that related to the night to daylight. Unless it mattered.
He called.
“Talk,” Marcus said quietly.
Terrance didn't waste time. “We ve got a problem.”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly. “How big?”
A pause. Too long.
“Big enough that I wouldn't call if it wasn't,”
Terrance said.
“Where are you?”
“Downtown. Warehouse.
“I'll be there in thirty.”
Marcus ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, listening to the muted sound of business continuing outside his office. Laughter. Footsteps. Life is going on.
Then he adjusted his cufflinks and walked out.
The transition happened underground. In the parking garage, Marcus removed his tie and loosened his collar. The car he entered wasn't the one clients recognized. This one was darker, heavier, built for escape rather than display.
By the time he reached the warehouse, daylight had lost his hold.
Terrance was already waiting, arms crossed, posture tense. The air inside the warehouse was thick with unease. Men stood in small clusters, voices low, eyes alert. They straightened when Marcus entered.
The room shifted.
Marcus didn't acknowledge it. He walked straight to Terrance.
“Tell me what's going on here?”
Terrance exhaled. “it's Roberto.”
Marcus stopped.
Roberto Jose wasn't just a supplier. He was a cornerstone of one of the biggest pipelines feeding Marcus’s operation. International. Untouchable. Careful.
“What about him?” Marcus asked, though somehow, cold had already settled in his chest.
Terrance swallowed. “He's dead.”
Silence followed, heavy and absolute.
“How”? Marcus asked.
“Hotel room. Midtown. Found this morning.”
Marcus said nothing.
“They said it was violent,” Terrance continued. “No sign of forced entry. No robbery.”
Marcus finally looked at him. “Who found the body?”
Terrance hesitated. “Housekeeping. Police were called immediately.”
The word “police” hung in the air like smoke.
Marcus turned away, pacing slowly. His mind moved fast, calculating angles, fallout, damage. Roberto didn't make careless enemies. He didn't die quietly.
“This wasn't random," Marcus said.
“No Terrance agreed.”And it gets worse.”
Marcus stopped. “It always does.”
“They are investigating,” Terrance said carefully. “And Roberto...he wasn't as careful and clean as we thought.”
Marcus' gaze snapped back to him. “Explain.”
“Some of his finances are tied to shell companies we’ve used, “Terrance said not directly. But close enough that if someone digs,”
“They will find smoke,” Marcus finished. And where there's smoke?
“Fire,” Terrance answered.
“Who knew his location?” Marcus asked.
“A short list,”Terrance replied. “Very short.”
Marcus nodded once. “Then we start there.”
Terrance studied him. “This feels different.”
Marcus met his eyes. “Because it is.”
Roberto’s death wasn't just a hit. It was a bold message. Someone is testing boundaries, pulling threads that could unravel everything.
And worse,
“They killed him in public,” Marcus said slowly.
“Which means they want attention.”
Or they wanted him.
Marcus's phone vibrated again.
This time it was his day job calling.
He didn't answer.
Terrance turned to him and asked, “who is it?” Marcus replied, “it's just work.”
Marcus turned to Terrance again and said,
“I want you to clean this up.” “ The investigation must not come back to bite us.”
“Change the location of the stash house, and those within that know about this, you know what to do.”
Let's lie low for now. No more deliveries for now.
“I ve got to go.” Marcus said, reaching out to Terrance for a handshake.
“Lest I forget, send a little something to Roberto's family. And if need be, we cover the funeral costs.” Said Marcus as he hurriedly jolted out.
The city was waking up already.
And somewhere beneath its polished surface, blood had already been spilled.
Marcus Terrell stood at the center of it all.
His dayligh
t empire spotless, his night kingdom trembling on the edge of exposure.
For years, the two worlds have always been separate for Marcus.
And New York is watching!
- Writer
