chapter 4

Vincent’s POV:

I was counting money when Samantha called.

Not mine.

My father's.

Stacks of it.

New bills, crisp, smelling like power.

The kind of power that lets you spill wine on a husband's head and laugh about it.

"Vincent," she said, voice tight. "Jack made five million dollars."

I laughed. "How? Scratch-off tickets?"

"Stocks. TerraPower."

The cigarette in my mouth went dead cold.

TerraPower was a corpse. Every analyst on Wall Street had buried it. Trading at $6.40, a dead energy stock heading straight to zero.

"Jack doesn't know stocks," I said，"He got lucky."

"He turned fifty million into fifty-five."

The numbers didn't lie.

But they didn't make sense either.

I thought about his face at the banquet. That flat stare when he said, "I know exactly who you become." Not "who you'll become." Present tense.

And the stock tip. He hadn't given it to Samantha. She'd stolen it. He'd left his laptop open.

Left it open.

Like he wanted her to see.

My gut screamed.

Jack was either the luckiest bastard alive...

Or he knew something.

"What's his exit plan?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"Find out."

"How?"

"Check his laptop. He still uses the same password."

She gasped. "You want me to spy on my husband?"

"Ex-husband."

"Still."

"Do it, or I tell your father about the abortion."

Silence.

Then: "Fine."

She called back in an hour. "He sold this morning. All of it. The stock is TerraPower."

My blood turned to ice water. "He sold?"

"All of it."

"Why?"

"He said..." She paused. "He said the direction feels wrong."

The direction feels wrong.

Not "I think."

Not "I'm worried."

The direction feels wrong.

Like he'd felt it before.

My gut screamed at me.

He knew how this movie ended.

And I was watching the sequel.

I called my broker.

"Buy TerraPower. Ten million."

"Sir, that stock is..."

"Buy it."

Then I called the number my father told me never to use.

"Mr. Costa," the voice said. Leather jacket. Gold watch. Fingers that broke bones for interest payments.

"I need fifty million."

"Collateral?"

"My father's name."

"Done."

The money hit my account in twenty minutes. I dumped all sixty million into TerraPower.

Eight million shares.

The broker's hands shook. "You're certain?"

"More certain than your heartbeat."

I wasn't buying stock.

I was buying certainty.

Jack's certainty.

Day one: stock flat. I smiled.

Day two: down two cents. I shrugged.

Day three: down fifteen cents. The first needle of doubt pricked my spine.

Day four: down a dollar. The doubt became a drill.

I called Samantha. "Has Jack sold?"

"Find out yourself."

"Don't play games."

"I'm not playing."

"You want money?"

"I want respect."

She called back in an hour. "He sold this morning. All of it."

My blood turned to ice water. "Why?"

"He said he doesn't like the direction."

The same words.

The same flat delivery.

The same ending I refused to accept.

I opened my laptop. TerraPower: $5.40. Down from $6.40.

I was down eight million dollars. Margin calls would start at market open tomorrow.

My phone rang. Unknown number.

"Mr. Costa. You owe us money."

"I have collateral."

"Your father's name isn't worth shit if you're broke."

The line went dead.

I called my father. No answer. I called his office. His secretary said he was in a meeting. With the lenders.

The panic started in my chest. A small animal clawing its way up my throat.

I grabbed my keys. I needed Robert Rossi. He was a judge. He could make calls, stop margin calls, make this disappear.

The Rossi mansion smelled like old money and fresh humiliation.

Robert was in his study, pouring whiskey. He didn't look up.

"Vincent."

"Mr. Rossi."

"You're in my house because?"

"I need help."

He finally looked at me. His eyes were cold. "Help costs."

"I'll pay."

"You already owe."

"More."

He laughed. A dry, cruel sound. "How much more?"

"Fifty-eight million."

The glass in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. "Dollars?"

"Plus interest."

"To who?"

"People who don't take IOUs."

He set the glass down. "Get out."

"Please."

"Get out."

I didn't move. The panic animal was in my throat now, scratching my voice box.

"Mr. Rossi, they'll kill me."

"That's your problem."

"They'll come here."

"That's your funeral."

I dropped to my knees. The Persian rug was soft. "Please. I'm family."

"You're a parasite."

"I love Samantha."

"You love my money."

The room spun. My suit felt like a straitjacket. I could smell my own sweat, sharp and desperate.

"Give me one name," I begged. "One person who can stop this."

He walked to his desk, wrote on a card, and dropped it.

I picked it up. It was blank.

"What is this?"

"Your reflection."

I crumpled it. "You bastard."

He smiled. "Language, Vincent. I'm still a judge."

The panic animal burst through. I lunged. His security guard slammed me to the floor. My face hit hardwood. I tasted blood.

"Throw him out," Robert said.

They dragged me through the foyer. Samantha stood at the top of the stairs in a silk robe, hair messy. She looked at me like a dog being taken to the pound.

"Help me," I mouthed.

She turned away.

The door slammed. I was on the street. My car was gone.

My phone buzzed. A text from the lender: Midnight.

Another: Bring $58 million.

A third: Or we bring your father's teeth.

I laughed. A broken, desperate laugh that echoed off the mansion walls.

Robert's face appeared in the window. He was smiling. Waving.

The panic animal stopped clawing.

It was already out.

And it was eating me alive.

I sat on the curb, holding my phone. The screen cracked when I'd fallen. A spiderweb of broken glass.

My reflection stared back. Same face. Same eyes.

But something was different.

The arrogance was gone.

Replaced by something harder.

Colder.

Jack had done this.

Jack had known.

And Jack had walked away without looking back.

My fingers typed a message. Not to the lender.

To Jack.

The message was simple.

You win this round.

I hit send.

Then I typed another.

But I know where you live.

I know who you love.

And I don't forget.

I didn't send that one.

I kept it in drafts.

A promise to myself.

The sun was setting. The streetlights flickered on.

A tow truck drove past, hooking up my Ferrari.

I watched it go.

My phone buzzed.

The lender again: 11 hours.

I stood up.

My knees shook.

But my hands were steady.

I had lost everything.

But I still had one thing left.

Hatred.

It burned clean and bright in my chest.

Jack had won today.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow I would show him what a cornered rat does to a cocky cat.

It poisons the whole fucking house.