All Chapters of MY BESTFRIEND’S BROTHER, MY RUIN: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

"Where the hell are my keys, Marcus? And why is the front gate buzzing like a hornet’s nest?"Rafferty gripped the edge of the mahogany desk, his knuckles a bloodless white. Outside the reinforced glass of the Thorne-Miller Tower, the morning sun hit the pavement, but the light didn't feel warm. It felt like a spotlight. A swarm of news vans sat idly at the curb, their satellite dishes pointed toward his throat like spears."Your brother, sir," Marcus said. He didn't look up from the tablet in his hand. His jaw was tight, a pulse jumping in his temple. "Leo’s out. An hour ago. Some procedural error with the warrant from the gala. Judge Vance signed the release before the ink on the appeal was even dry.""Technicality? What the f**k does that even mean?" Rafferty snatched a crystal tumbler from the tray and hurled it. It didn't shatter against the wall; it buried itself in the plush carpet with a dull, pathetic thud. "He tried to gut me in front of the board, and the state just... lets

"Get out of my chair, Ignatius."Rafferty’s voice didn't shake. It was a dry, hollow rasp that barely carried across the expanse of the executive suite. He stood in the doorway, the heavy oak panels clicking shut behind him. The office was dark, save for the rhythmic blue pulse of the city lights reflecting off the glass."Your chair?" Ignatius tilted his head. He was leaning back, his legs crossed at the ankles, resting on the edge of the mahogany desk. He looked different. The skeletal, frantic twitching was gone. He looked healthy. Fed. He was wearing the bespoke charcoal three-piece Rafferty had ordered for the merger—the one that had been missing from the penthouse closet for a week. "Funny. I thought the throne belonged to whoever was left standing when the music stopped.""You're wearing my suit." Rafferty’s knuckles turned a bloodless white as he gripped the door handle."It fits better on me. I don't have all that... tension in the shoulders." Ignatius stood up. He didn't scr

"Run, Elena! Get out of here now! What the f**k are you waiting for?"Rafferty’s voice cracked, a jagged sound that tore through the sterile hum of the server fans. He didn't look at her. He couldn't. His eyes were locked on the digital timer blinking on the tablet in Ignatius’s hand. 00:59. The green numbers bled into the dark office like neon bile. He lifted his hands, fingers flickering in a series of sharp, desperate signs. Run. Go. Door."I’m not leaving you, Raffy! Stop it! We can talk him down!" Elena screamed. She didn't move toward the exit. Her heels remained planted on the marble."Talk me down?" Ignatius giggled, the sound wet and thin. He tightened his grip on the tablet, his thumb hovering over the bypass. "She thinks I’m a rational actor, Raffy. Isn’t that sweet? She thinks this is a negotiation.""Fifty seconds, Ignatius," Rafferty rasped. He forced his lungs to expand, a slow, agonizing pull of air. His heart was a trapped bird slamming against the cage of his ribs. 00

"You’re late, Rafferty. The judge is already in chambers. If you don't get in that seat, this whole circus starts without the ringmaster."Marcus gripped Rafferty’s elbow, his fingers digging into the expensive wool of his blazer. The hallway of the Central Criminal Court smelled of floor wax and stale coffee. Cameras clustered like vultures at the far end, their lenses tracking every twitch of Rafferty's jaw."I’m not the ringmaster, Marcus. I’m the evidence." Rafferty jerked his arm away. He adjusted his cufflink, the gold cool against his trembling skin. He stepped through the heavy double doors.The courtroom fell into a vacuum of silence. Then, the scratching.Cane Thorne sat in a high-backed wheelchair near the defense table. He wasn't the man Rafferty remembered. He was a collection of melted wax and scar tissue. His throat was a mess of graft lines, his breathing a wet, mechanical wheeze through a silver stoma. But his eyes—those dark, piercing marbles—were fixed on Rafferty w

"Sign the order, Rafferty. The crews are already idling on the corner of 5th and Broadway. The wrecking ball doesn't move until you put ink to this."Marcus dropped the heavy leather folder onto the center of the desk. The office was stripped. No paintings. No awards. Just a slab of mahogany and a man whose eyes were sunken into his skull."Give it here." Rafferty didn't reach for the pen. He snatched it. The nib tore through the paper as he scrawled his name. "Tell the foreman I want the lobby gone first. I want the foundation turned into gravel.""You’re destroying three billion dollars in equity." Marcus took the folder back, his fingers lingering on the wet ink. "The board is calling for your head. They’re filing an injunction as we speak.""The board owns the glass. I own the dirt." Rafferty stood up. His knees popped, a dry sound in the empty room. He walked to the window. Across the street, the Ignatius Group’s tower stood like a giant, obsidian tombstone. "I want it flat by su