Desmond Voss stood at the edge of a quiet cemetery on the outskirts of the city, a place he had never once visited in the eleven years since the name Thomas Monroe had crossed his desk as nothing more than a line item in a successful acquisition. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd come now, only that something about the last few weeks had unsettled him in a way business rarely did anymore.
He found the grave after a short search, a modest headstone beneath a tree that had grown tall since the burial, simple and dignified in a way that felt, somehow, like a quiet rebuke to everything Desmond had built his own life around.
Thomas Monroe. Beloved husband and father. Every honest hour was worth the effort.
Desmond read the inscription twice, something tightening uncomfortably in his chest. He
