MY BESTFRIEND’S BROTHER, MY RUIN のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

"Ignatius, stop. You're shaking like a leaf."The elevator hummed, a low vibration beneath the soles of Rafferty’s polished shoes. The brushed steel walls reflected a distorted version of the two men. One stood straight, encased in a midnight-blue suit that felt more like Kevlar than wool. The other wore a bulky, ill-fitting security uniform, the polyester fabric bunching at the shoulders."Don't tell me what to do!" Ignatius’s voice cracked. He fumbled with the hem of his jacket. A silver blade slid from his sleeve, glinting under the recessed LED lights. "I’m in charge here. I have the floor. I have the steel."Rafferty didn't move. He didn't reach for the emergency stop. He watched a single tear track through the grime on Ignatius’s cheek, leaving a pale smear."You're not in charge, Iggy. You're just in the way.""Why?" Ignatius lunged forward, the knife point stopping an inch from Rafferty’s throat. His breath smelled of stale coffee and desperation. "Why won't you just let me lo

"Sign the damn paper, Leo. It’s over."Rafferty pushed the single sheet of vellum through the metal slot at the bottom of the reinforced glass. The overhead fluourescents buzzed, a dying insect noise that echoed off the cinderblock walls. The visitation room smelled of bleach and stale sweat.Leo didn't look at the paper. He looked at Rafferty’s neck. A small, purple bruise peeked out from under the starched collar of his shirt—the mark from Ignatius’s struggle in the elevator. Leo’s lips curled into a dry, yellow-toothed grin."You look like hell, Raffy," Leo rasped. He leaned into the speaker, his breath fogging the glass. "That suit cost more than the warden makes in a year, and you still look like something the cat dragged in. Did little Iggy give you a run for your money?""Iggy is a ghost. You're a convict. Sign it." Rafferty tapped the glass with a heavy signet ring. Clack. Clack. "The board is finalized. The Thorne name is being scrubbed from the lobby. This settlement ensures

"The unit at the motel lost him at 0400, sir," Marcus said. His voice was steady, but he wouldn't meet Rafferty's eyes. "He stepped out for a bottle. Never came back. The room's empty, but the door was kicked from the outside. Splintered wood everywhere.""You had one job. One." Rafferty grabbed a heavy glass and hurled it at the wall. It shattered into a spray of diamonds against the mahogany. "The board is breathing down my neck, the merger is hanging by a thread, and now the old man is in the wind.""There's more, Mr. Miller." Marcus stepped forward, dropping a tablet on the desk. "The police are downstairs. Lead detective is a guy named Vance. He’s got a warrant for your metadata. They found blood at the motel. DNA matches the sample you gave after the gala.""Vance? That bottom-feeder? He couldn't find his own ass with both hands." Rafferty swiped the tablet off the desk, sending it skidding across the floor. He paced the length of the room, his jaw creaking as he ground his teet

"Who’s out there, Raffy? Is it the cavalry? Or just more vultures?"Cane’s voice grated through the stagnant air of the studio, stripped of its usual silk. He strained against the ropes, the wooden legs of the chair screeching against the grit-covered linoleum. Outside, the world had turned into a rhythmic pulse of crimson and blue. The strobe lights from the patrol cars below slashed through the soot-stained window, painting the peeling wallpaper in jagged, vibrating hues of emergency. Sirens wailed, a distant, mourning sound that was rapidly sharpening into a roar."It’s over, Dad. The perimeter’s locked," Rafferty said. He stood near the sagging door frame, his silhouette carved out by the hallway light. He didn't look at the window. He didn't look at the flashing lights. He watched the way the shadow of the folding chair elongated across the floor. "Vance isn't playing games. He’s got snipers on the roof across the street. You move toward that glass, and they’ll vent your skull bef

"You just gonna stand there and let the soot ruin that fancy wool coat, Rafferty?"Marcus didn't wait for an answer. He spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the oil-slicked pavement and squinted at the orange bloom swallowing the third-floor window. The heat was a physical hand, pushing back against the crowd. Sirens screamed, a jagged, overlapping mess of noise that tore through the heavy humid air."The fire department’s two minutes out. Maybe three," Marcus muttered, checking his watch. "Vance is already circling the block like a shark that caught a whiff of chum. We should go. Now."Rafferty didn't move. He stood on the cracked sidewalk, his boots planted in a puddle of stagnant rainwater and ash. He didn't feel the heat. He didn't hear the sirens. He watched the way the black smoke coiled out of the studio apartment, a thick, greasy rope that seemed to pull the sky down toward the brickwork."They’re in there, Marcus.""The whole building’s a tinderbox, sir. If they aren't out by now