Liam
Carol Osei called at 2:14 p.m.
I had been back at my office for less than an hour.
The Callaghan Group occupied an entire historic bank building in Uptown. From the street, the building still looked like what it had once been: old Dallas money carved into limestone, bronze, and glass.
Inside, I had gutted almost all of it.
I kept what was worth keeping. The vault doors. The marble floors. The brass railings worn smooth by a century of hands. Everything else had been stripped down and rebuilt into glass-walled offices, secure rooms, command centers, and enough modern systems to make the building useful instead of ornamental.
My grandfather had hated it.
That had been part of the point.
The bank had belonged to the Callaghans for generations. My paternal grandfather had spoken a
