Victor’s office was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the overhead lights. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of smoke and a faint metallic tang of blood. On the desk, the metal insignia lay still, its polished surface catching the dim light and casting reflections that danced like whispers of a legacy reclaimed.
Rex leaned back in the oversize leather chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as his gaze remained fixed on the insignia. It wasn’t just an object; it was a symbol of power, of the Carlson family’s enduring influence. With a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.
The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered, smooth and laced with its usual mix of wit and authority.
“Well, well, my seventh son. Do
