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Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen: The Consortium Moves
publish date:
2026-09-03 07:45:33
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Wrecked by my enemy Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Two: The Attempt
The rain over the upper reaches of the Taconic Parkway did not fall with the clean, sharp discipline of a winter storm; it swept across the asphalt in heavy, erratic sheets, churned sideways by the Atlantic gales that dragged salt and moisture inland from the Sound. At six o'clock in the evening, the visibility along the winding stretch of Route 9A dropped to less than fifty yards, turning the reflective highway markers into blurry orange smears against the grey asphalt.The black armored Maybach was scheduled to carry Damien Blackwood from the Midtown corporate terminal back to the Bedford compound by seven.It was a standard logistical rotation. For three years, Damien’s security detail had utilized the same primary route, the same armored chassis, and the same primary driver—a former Royal Marines transport specialist named Julian Vance, whose silence was secured by an annual retainer larger than a federal judge’s salary. Julian knew every pothole, every drainage incline, and every
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-One: The Mechanics of Assassination
The rain over Midtown Manhattan had settled into a steady, needle-fine drizzle by eight o'clock in the morning, turning the granite facade of the federal courthouse on Foley Square into a dark, slick monolith against the low overcast sky.Inside a windowless, soundproofed briefing room on the ninth floor, the light was stark and artificial, supplied by two long fluorescent fixtures overhead that hummed with a low, continuous vibration. A heavy oak conference table occupied the center of the room, cluttering the space with empty cardboard coffee cups, three sealed evidence bags made of heavy clear vinyl, and a high-resolution forensic monitor connected to an encrypted workstation.Rafe Morale stood near the head of the table, his charcoal suit jacket unbuttoned, his tie pulled loose at the collar. Across from him sat Special Agent Raymond Miller of the FBI’s Financial Crimes Task Force, flanked by a senior forensic engineer from the Department of Transportation’s National Transportatio
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter One Hundred and Sixty: Edmund and Elias
The evening fog in Scotland rolled off the Firth of Forth early, spilling across the cobbled streets of New Town and pressing thick, damp grey wool against the tall sash windows of the stone townhouse before five o'clock. Inside the book-lined study on the second floor, the only light came from a green-shaded brass banker's lamp sitting on a scarred oak desk and the low coal fire glowing behind a cast-iron grate. Rain ticked lightly against the upper panes—a steady, rhythmic sound that had accompanied the autumn afternoons since late September.Across three thousand miles of dark ocean, in the quiet valley of Bedford, it was just past noon. Pale October sunlight slanted through the tall mullioned windows of the south study, falling across the wide plank oak floor in long, bright rectangles that caught the dust motes drifting lazily in the stillness.Elias sat alone in the worn leather armchair near the window, dressed in a soft charcoal cashmere sweater and dark trousers. Beside him o
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Nine: Victor Responds
The forty-fourth floor of Hawthorne Tower held a peculiar kind of quiet after noon—not the serene hush of a library or the focused concentration of a trading floor during an earnings release, but the thick, pressurized stillness of a decompression chamber before the seals gave way. Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass along the western wall, low October clouds dragged their grey bellies across the Hudson River, turning the water below into a sheet of hammered pewter. Victor Hawthorne had not left his office since six-thirty that morning. He stood near the tall window behind the thirty-foot Brazilian rosewood desk, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, wearing a bespoke midnight-navy suit whose crisp tailoring seemed slightly too sharp for the grey, hollowed-out look beneath his eyes. On the far side of the room, the double mahogany doors leading out to the executive corridor remained closed. Beyond them, the reception desk sat empty; his longtime executive assistant had called i
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Nine: Victor Responds
The forty-fourth floor of Hawthorne Tower held a peculiar kind of quiet after noon—not the serene hush of a library or the focused concentration of a trading floor during an earnings release, but the thick, pressurized stillness of a decompression chamber before the seals gave way. Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass along the western wall, low October clouds dragged their grey bellies across the Hudson River, turning the water below into a sheet of hammered pewter.Victor Hawthorne had not left his office since six-thirty that morning.He stood near the tall window behind the thirty-foot Brazilian rosewood desk, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, wearing a bespoke midnight-navy suit whose crisp tailoring seemed slightly too sharp for the grey, hollowed-out look beneath his eyes. On the far side of the room, the double mahogany doors leading out to the executive corridor remained closed. Beyond them, the reception desk sat empty; his longtime executive assistant had called in w
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven: Victor's Diminishment
The forty-fourth floor of Hawthorne Tower was always quiet after six o'clock, but this was not the stillness of an empty office building at the end of a productive day. It was the flat, hollow silence of a house whose windows had been boarded up from the inside.Out in the main executive bullpen, twenty-four glass-walled cubicles stood dark. Three senior vice presidents had tendered their resignations by wire on Tuesday morning; four more had simply cleared their personal effects from their credentials at lunch and stopped returning calls from the general counsel's office. Even the reception desk by the private elevator bank was vacant—its surface wiped clean of correspondence trays, appointment books, and the brass nameplate that had sat there since 1998.Inside the corner suite, Victor Hawthorne sat behind the thirty-foot Brazilian rosewood desk.He had not turned on the overhead recessed lighting. The vast room was lit only by the dying amber light of the late afternoon sun droppin
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter Six: The Weight of the Unseen
The rain in Manhattan never fell cleanly; it smeared against the glass of the Hawthorne Tower like grease, blurring the sharp, neon geometric lines of the city into a chaotic, watery gray. Elias stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his executive office, his forehead pressed against the cold glas
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter Five: The Mask
The heavy silk press of the blindfold remained a warm, black wall against Elias’s eyes, but the shifting layout of the room told him the dynamic had irrevocably altered. The bruising, desperate force of the last hour had slowed, replaced by a dense, suffocating stillness that made his lungs burn. He
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter 4: The Point of No Return
The stranger didn’t let Elias catch his breath.Elias lay there on the silk sheets, chest heaving, come cooling on his stomach, the blindfold was still tight against his eyes. His body felt wrecked already, legs shaky, ass throbbing from that first brutal round. But the stranger’s hands were back o
Wrecked by my enemy Chapter 3: No Turning Back
Elias’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.Not the small, polite tremor he could hide in board meetings. This was full body, teeth rattling shit that made the black silk blindfold feel like it was already cutting off his air. He’d paid the obscene membership fee, heart beating so hard he could taste copp
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