Adonis Praxis Edward.
I let out a chuckle, but there’s nothing funny about it.
Those bastards are gone. Out of the country. That’s what the detective says after combing through every footprint, every wire trail, every shadow the Lorenzo brothers left behind. I punch two buttons off my shirt just to feel something give.
The staff knows better than to linger when the veins rise at my temple. They scatter the moment they see that look.
I start calling my overseas contacts, one after another, in the receptive countries the detectives believe the Lorenzo brothers ran to. The Nanotech weapons they stole from me are worth enough to erase a life and buy another. Cars. Estates. Businesses. Jets. Entire airports if one happened to be for sale.
That’s what burns. Not the theft. The audacity.
