Norman's POV
The city lights blurred outside the window, their vibrant glow a stark contrast to the chilling update I was receiving from my private investigator. Kane’s accident. It hadn't been an accident at all.
“The plate number, sir,” the private investigator said, his voice low and professional, “came back registered to a certain Peter Jones.” He slid a file across the desk, the crisp paper a jarring sound in the quiet room. Inside, a photograph. A man, mid-twenties, sharp features, a smirk playing on his lips. The smirk felt familiar, yet I couldn't quite place it.
“I don’t recognize him,” I admitted, my brow furrowed in concentration. I scanned the photograph again, my eyes lingering on the man's confident posture and knowing smirk. I had a strange feeling that I knew him from s
