Chapter 4 Adam

The mahogany desk gleamed under the study's amber lamp, its polish mocking me as my fingers drummed a restless beat against it. The stack of papers before me-Stephen's will, shipping contracts, trust clauses-sat like a coiled snake, each line a hiss of Elena's defiance. Four years since the crash, and that girl still held the keys to what should've been mine. I snatched the will, its edges crisp under my grip, and traced the date-September 19th, four years back. Her 13th birthday turned to ash, and yet she clung to her father's legacy like a lifeline.

Seventeen and unbreakable, I thought, my jaw tightening. Not for long.

The old wound festered, sharp and raw. My father's voice rasped in my memory-"A bastard gets nothing, Adam." He'd handed Stephen the empire, left me crumbs, and branded me a mistake till his last breath. I'd carved my own path, but Stephen's wealth-his shipping routes, ripe for the taking-had been the prize I'd kill for. Four years ago, I had. Now Elena stood in my way, a stubborn echo of her father's will. I pressed my hands flat against the desk, the wood cool and unyielding, and exhaled through gritted teeth. She's a child playing queen. Time's up.

A sharp knock jolted me upright. Peter stepped in, his gray suit immaculate, his voice smooth as glass. "Sir, Josh is here."

I leaned back, the chair creaking under me, and nodded. "Send him in." Josh was the hammer to my chisel, his own scars fueling our pact. Four years ago, we'd rigged Stephen's car, watched it burn with Maria-and Lisa-inside. My goal was the company, a goldmine for the cartel's smuggling. Josh's was revenge-Stephen had stolen Lisa, and her death in that fire, meant only for my brother, had sealed our bond in blood and guilt.

Peter vanished, and Josh stormed in, boots thudding against the hardwood. His broad frame filled the doorway, his jaw set, eyes dark with impatience. "Adam," he said, dropping into the chair across from me, the leather groaning. "Elena. Four years, and she's still holding out. What's the damn delay?"

His tension mirrored mine, a live wire sparking between us. I swirled the whiskey in my tumbler, the amber liquid catching the light, and took a slow sip, the burn steadying me. "She's a brick wall," I said, my voice low and tight. "Stubborn as Stephen ever was. I've tried charm, pressure-nothing moves her."

Josh slammed a fist on the desk, the papers jumping. "We torched Stephen for this, and now what? The cartel's itching to move those weapons-her signature's the bottleneck. We're hanging by a thread."

I set the glass down with a soft clink, the sound sharp in the quiet. "I didn't count on Stephen locking it all in a trust till she's twenty-one," I said, shoving the will toward him. "Mining's manageable, but the shipping company? That's the crown, and she's got her claws in it." The paper slid across the desk, crinkling as Josh grabbed it, his eyes flicking over the text before he tossed it back with a grunt.

"She won't budge," he said, leaning forward, elbows digging into the wood. "So what's the move?"

I met his gaze, my fingers curling into fists. "We're done waiting," I said, my voice dropping to a cold edge. "She's not just a problem-she's a threat. We take her out."

Josh's brows shot up, his chair creaking as he shifted. "Take her out?" He rubbed his jaw, a faint stubble rasping under his fingers, then let out a low breath. "You're not messing around. How do you pull that off clean?"

"It's not a question," I snapped, leaning in, my shadow falling across the desk. "Four years of her games ends now. A street hit-car swerves, she's gone. Quick, quiet, like she never existed." I paused, a dark thought flickering-her 18th birthday, months away, loomed like a deadline. A gift wrapped in blood, I mused, the idea chillingly poetic.

Josh's eyes narrowed, then he nodded, slow and deliberate. "Risky, but it tracks. The boys can stage it-hit-and-run, no traces. When?"

"Soon," I said, my voice flat, final. "Before she turns eighteen. The cartel's patience is shot, and I'm not gambling on her next birthday." The words hung heavy, a promise of violence threading through them, and I saw the flicker of unease in Josh's gaze before he masked it.

He smirked, leaning back. "Alright. But first-a drink. We're plotting a murder here."

I arched a brow, a flicker of grim amusement cutting through the ice in my veins. "Why not?" I waved a hand. "Peter, champagne."

Peter slipped out, and I sank back, the chair groaning as I let the plan settle. Elena's death would erase Stephen's last stand, clear the path to everything I'd bled for. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, cold and electric. Her birthday-March 19th, if I timed it right-would mark her end and my triumph. A clean slate, stained red.

Peter returned, the champagne bottle dripping condensation, and Josh poured, the fizz hissing into flutes. He raised his glass, the bubbles glinting like tiny stars. "To tying up loose ends," he said, his tone rough with resolve.

I clinked my glass against his, the chime sharp and final. "To taking what's ours." The champagne was crisp, prickling my tongue, and I drank deep, the taste of victory sinking in.

We set the glasses down, and I pulled a notepad closer, my pen scratching as I mapped it out. "She walks home from school-5th and Maple's dead enough. Your boys can hit her there-car veers, she's done. No cameras, no fuss."

Josh nodded, his fingers tapping the armrest. "Got a driver lined up-some nobody we can cut loose after. Cops'll call it a tragedy and move on." He paused, his gaze flicking to me. "You're sure? Once it's rolling, there's no brake."

"I've never been surer," I said, my voice a blade's edge. "She's Stephen's ghost. We bury her with him-before she's eighteen and the trust tightens."

The next hour blurred into logistics-routes, timing, a burner phone for the signal. The study grew warm, the air thick with whiskey and intent, but my focus was a razor's edge. Every detail locked tight, every risk snuffed out. Elena wouldn't see the headlights coming, and that was the beauty of it.

When the bottle ran dry, Josh stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'll get it moving," he said, his tone clipped. "Keep it under wraps."

"Always," I replied, rising. "Peter, make it happen. No slips."

Peter nodded, vanishing, and Josh followed, leaving me in the study's hush. I crossed to the window, the night beyond a void, the city's lights faint and cold. My reflection stared back-hard jaw, harder eyes-and I smirked, thin and sharp. Elena's days were ticking down, her 18th birthday a shadow I'd turn lethal. I turned back, crumpling the will in my fist and dropping it into the trash. Four years too long, I thought, the words a vow. She ends soon.