The automated, crystalline voice of the Nine Dragons Bank’s elite service line seemed to ripple through the air, vibrating against the gold-leaf molding of the Lacy villa.
“Eighty-three million, nine hundred and sixty thousand dollars…”
The silence that followed was heavy, ancient, and absolute. Every member of the Lacy family stood petrified, frozen in a grotesque tableau of greed and shock. The air in the room seemed to have been sucked out, replaced by the staggering weight of that number.
Eighty-three million.
It wasn’t just the seventy million needed to satisfy the contract; it was a surplus. A cushion. It was more liquid wealth than the entire Lacy family had seen in ten years of scraping by in Valor City.
“Sarah…” An uncle’s voice broke the silence, sounding like dry parchment
