Chapter 60: The Absolute Humiliation
Harlan Sterling drove his fist into the jaw of his former personal tax accountant with the dull, wet crunch of bone striking gristle. The accountant, a man who had spent fifteen years balancing offshore maritime accounts and attending private polo matches with the family, collapsed sideways into the frozen slush, spitting dark blood and broken molars across the churned mud.
Harlan did not stop to catch his breath or adjust his torn coat.
He dropped to his knees, his large hands clawing frantically into the freezing earth where dark fragments of braised venison and liver paste lay scattered. His fingernails tore against jagged foundation stones, peeling away the skin from his fingertips, but the physical pain meant nothing compared to the gnawing agon
