Julian Miller was right where the killer had left him. He was a man in his late forties, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit that hugged his frame even in death. He sat slumped forward over a massive slab of polished mahogany that served as his desk. His face was turned away from them, resting in a small, dark pool of coagulating blood that had soaked into a leather desk blotter.
I found him at 8:50 PM when I looped back to the study. The door was locked from the inside. I had to use my master override to enter. He was dead when I found him. I didn’t kill him!
My husband had many eccentricities, Detective. Success in venture capital isn’t a popularity contest, and it certainly isn’t normal. He had enemies. People he had ruined. Competitors he had crushed.
Victor Voss. Face-up. Eyes open. Mouth frozen in a silent scream. An antique dagger—serpent coiled around the hilt, ruby eyes glinting—protruded from his chest like an exclamation point.
Grief? Fear? Calculation? “Victor had enemies,” she said. Business rivals. Disgruntled employees. People who envied what he built. Dorian leaned forward. “Anyone in particular come to mind? There was… tension with his partner. Marcus Hale. They argued frequently. Money. Control. The usual.
We had a disagreement. Business. Nothing more. Disagreement loud enough for an anonymous tip to point us straight here,” Dorian said. Hale’s jaw tightened. People talk. Especially when money disappears. Jinx tilted her head. Twelve million credits disappeared. To an offshore Veil account. You know anything about that?
Hale’s gaze sharpened. I know Victor was reckless. He made promises he couldn’t keep. The Veil… they don’t forgive debts.
Silas Crowe
Elias Voss.Late forties, fit, the kind of handsome that came from good genes and better plastic surgeons. His silk robe hung open, revealing a single stab wound directly through the heart—clean, precise, no hesitation marks. Blood had pooled beneath him in a perfect circle, as if someone had drawn it with a compass. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling like he was still trying to debug the last line of code in his life.
The victim, a man in a white tuxedo, is sprawled in a “posed” position Vance Sterling. The man who owned half the skyline. Now he’s just a decorative piece in his own living room.
Interrogation of Leo “Lucky” Rossi
