PROOF TO RUIN: 10 STEPS TO KILL A BILLIONAIRE
The old man sat behind his massive oak desk like a king on a rotting throne, greedy eyes glittering as I finally pieced it together.
“You’ve been using me,” I’d said, voice shaking with rage. “All those questions about Thorne’s family routines, their security, their favorite spots. I thought you wanted a merger. I thought—”
My father had laughed, low and cruel. “Men don’t become kings by asking nicely, boy. You cut off the head and burn the body. Tonight. The Blackwoods end tonight.”
I’d driven like a madman to the uncle’s birthday celebration. I knew that’s where they’d be—Thorne had mentioned it days earlier, laughing about the terrible cake his aunt always made.