POV: David Wilson
I was sitting in my top-floor office, watching the city turn grey as the sun began to rise. I wasn't just working; I was waiting. I had already sent Evans a chilling text message—Calix is being dealt with. I suggest you focus on your business and keep your wife contained—just to let my younger brother know I was in control. Evans was too slow, too messy, and too emotional to handle a threat this serious.
I pulled up the screen on my secure tablet. It showed a live feed from a camera planted near the cheap motel where that pest, Calix, was hiding. He was the root of all the recent embarrassment: the talk of "special bloodline," the claims about the basement, and the threats against the Wilson name.
Calix had to go.
I had given Evans a chance to handle the problem like
