The autumn wind howled through the streets of Chicago, carrying with it the scent of rain and fallen leaves. George stood at the window of his apartment, watching the trees bend and sway in the gusting wind. The sky was a dark, churning gray, heavy with the promise of another storm. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the room. He'd been standing there for nearly an hour, lost in thought, the letter from Thomas Blackwood still fresh in his mind.
His father had killed his own brother. David Blackwood had been a murderer, but he'd also been a victim. And Julian had eliminated him the same way he'd eliminated everyone else. The revelation had shaken George to his core, but it had also brought a strange sense of closure.
Sam found him there, he
