The mansion was unusually silent that evening, the kind of silence that announced the coming of a storm. The guards outside exchanged uneasy glances as David’s black SUV screeched to a halt at the gate. He jumped out before the driver could open the door, slamming it behind him with enough force to shake the metal.
His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw tight with fury. Every step he took echoed with rage. He didn’t greet anyone, didn’t look at anyone—he just stormed into the house like a man possessed. The staff quickly moved out of sight; they knew that look. David Martin was in one of his dangerous moods.
As he entered the sitting room, his mind replayed every word Desmond had said to him:
“Don’t insult my intelligence, boy! You tried to sell me counterfeit documents!”
“Do you know what c
