The name Bianca Frost hung in the air inside the luxurious cabin of the Rolls-Royce, acting like a cold front that instantly froze the atmosphere. Conrad Stone leaned back against the hand-stitched leather seat, his gaze drifting out the window at the blurred lights of Haven City. The glowing skyscrapers and the shimmering surface of the Haven River seemed to fade away, replaced by the ghost-like images of a life he had tried to bury beneath the persona of a humble son-in-law.
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. With a flick of a silver lighter, a small flame danced in the darkness, illuminating the sharp, tired contours of his face. He exhaled a thick cloud of gray smoke, watching it swirl against the windowpane. To the world, he was
