Ashley Murphy’s Point of View
I grip the contract fragment, its edges digging into my palm like the sharp end of a bad deal. The Vegas night hums outside my car, neon lights flashing in mockery of my fear, the Strip's endless glow hiding secrets in plain sight. That “M” initial—could it be Martins, my brother?—ties the deal that broke me to the fire that killed Mom, a blaze that still haunts my dreams with smoke and loss.
I’m done waiting for Scott to come to me with answers, letting the city's illusions dictate my fate. Tonight, I’m taking the fight to him, impulsiveness driving me like a high-speed chase down the boulevard.
I park near Sterling Holdings, its glass tower piercing the night sky, dark except for a glow on the top floor—Scott’s office, overlooking the empire built on shad
