Chapter 384

Luis' eyes glittered with a cold, amused irony. To him,Rowland's declaration of loyalty was nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing. His lies, full of seams and weak stitches, looked laughable under that stare.

Luis fought down the laugh that wanted to burst free,the corner of his mouth barely twitching as his narrow,deep-set gaze roved over Rowland's flushed face.

One look told him everything: the man's forced calm,the eagerness for approval. A pawn desperate for a favor-already the most obvious piece to be sacrificed on the board-and he didn't even know.

Luis set the photo frame back with deliberate cae,turning it face down on the desk. He neatly folded and smoothed the handkerchief beside it with precise,almost ritualistic motions.

Then, lifting his head, he asked softly, "You've worked under me for years. I want to hear your thoughts. If we were to deal with Darrell, how do you think we should proceed?"

Rowland blinked, taken aback for a heartbeat, and then pasted on a sycophantic smile so fast it might have been rehearsed. Excitement threaded his voice."Mr. Sampson, if it were up to me, we'd gather everyone tied to the underground businesses. Make an example of Darrell in front of them. Let those punks see that breaking your rules leads to only one end: death."

His hands sketched phrases in the air as he spoke,nervous flourishes betraying his confidence. "Think about it. If word spreads about Darrell, the underlings will riot. Authority has to be established-in public."

Luis leaned back into the leather, fingers tapping a slow, measured rhythm on the armrest. A small,almost amused smile curved his lips. "Rowland, that makes sense."

Pride swelled in Rowland's chest. He fought to wrap the feeling in deferential humility. "All thanks to your guidance, Mr. Sampson."

"You can go," Luis said,waving a hand without looking up. His voice dropped, flat and certain. "I'll handle Darrell's mess myself."

"Yes,sir," Rowland answered, bowed, and left the room with practiced, respectful steps.

When the door shut, Luis let his eyes narrow until they were slits; the warmth drained from them like color from a photograph. Silence settled in the office, broken only by the steady tapping of hs fingertips against wood-a slow,dangerous metronome in the hush.

The lounge door slid open without a sound. Verena and lsaac glided in, exchanging a brief, loaded look with Luis.

Isaac broke the quiet first. "Looks like this drama's headed for its climax."

Luis' hand closed on the photo frame and flipped it upright.

In the yellowed photograph, a younger Joseph stood in a dark blue suit, Sherwood's hand thrown over his broad shoulder; the old courtyard wall behind them crawled with ivy, both men smiling into the sun.

Now the glass reflected Luis-cold, hard, implacable.He pressed a fingertip to Sherwood's faint smirk as if trying to blur the man from existence.

Sherwood in that image was, to Luis, nothing more than a snake that had learned to grin.

He fixed his gaze on that frozen smile, the words low and bitter as gravel. "Those who stir trouble from the shadows will be paid back in the same coin."

Verena settled herself across from him, pearl earrings swinging softly, catching the lamp's light.

She rested her elbows on the desk, thumb and forefinger supporting her temple, and spoke in a controlled,thoughtful cadence. "Sherwood is trying to pin serious crimes on the Sampson family, but he can't do it alone: Daren-the old fox-is the linchpin Sherwood needs him to manufacture the frame. We need to have the police monitor their calls and record transactions, timing of deliveries. That's how we expose his setup."

Listening, the hatred in Luis' eyes refashioned itself into something sharper-an icier, more focused light.

He set the frame down with the same deliberate calm and looked at Verena and Isaac. "You reminded me of something."

He let his plan show in the corners of his mouth. "I'll put a few trustworthy officers on Sherwood-24/7surveillance of his communications."

He met their eyes, a cold promise curling into a smile."This time, let's make Sherwood taste the sting of his own trap."

"There's someone else we've overlooked-someone crucial." Isaac drummed his fingers against the desk,each dull thud echoing like a ticking clock.

Verena leaned back in her chair, brows knitting as she studied him. "We've already accounted for all of Sherwood's cards, haven't we?"

Luis halted his pen mid-spin, his confusion mirroring hers as his eyes settled on lsaac.

A thin sneer curved Isaac's mouth. "Sherwood's a wily old fox. He's willing to throw himself into the fire, but notice how he keeps his daughter under lock and key at home. That's his weak point."

Their network of informants had mapped Sherwood's daily life to the smallest detail-his routines,his guards, even the rhythm of his household.

Isaac folded his arms, gaze dipping with cold certainty."We could track him forever and still come up short.But if we hold his daughter, he'll fold. No questions asked."

Understanding flickered across Verena's face like sudden light. Her eyes brightened as she leaned forward. "You're suggesting we use Molly as leverage?"

A low laugh slipped from her lips. "Sherwood hides her away with guards at every corner. Getting her out of that fortress will take more than brute force-it'll take finesse."

Isaac opened his mouth, but Luis was already sliding his pen aside. He reached for a leather-bound calendar, fingers skimming across its pages until they came to rest.

"In three days," he said, his voice carrying a cold edge,"the Mile Art Museum is holding its Emerging Artists Exhibit. Molly will be there without question."

Painting was Molly's passion, though her canvases betrayed no natural gift. Backed by Sherwood's inexhaustible wealth, she staged annual shows regardless, each one swarming with social climbers eager to curry favor with her father.

Half a year ago, she had pressed an invitation into Luis ' hand. He'd declined, but his mind catalogued details with the precision of a blade; one glance was all it took for the memory to resurface.

After listening to his explanation, Verena nodded slowly. "So that's our window."

Her gaze lingered on Luis' tightened jaw, and then shifted to the fire burning behind Isaac's eyes. At last she straightened, lips curling with a confident tilt."Neither of you fits that crowd. Molly's circle is all about high society ladies. I can pass as a staff member-slip in, slip out, no one the wiser. Let me take the lead on this one."

Luis' expression softened, pride flickering through the warmth in his eyes. He reached out, laying a steady hand on her shoulder. His voice was low, threaded with the quiet authority only an elder brother carried. "No one sees details the way you do. You're the only one who can pull this off. I can breathe easier with you in charge, but promise me you won't take reckless chances. Your safety comes first."

Verena covered his hand with hers, giving two light pats of reassurance. "I know. Don't worry. Trust me."

Beside her,Isaac lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand from her face with reverent care. His touch lingered,thumb grazing her cheek as though she were something too rare to mishandle. "I'll see the museum's cameras disabled, and my best men stationed nearby," he promised.

His voice, indulgent yet commanding, pressed close."Stay sharp. If anything feels wrong, signal me. I'll bring backup and break the doors down myself if l have to."

Verena's lips curved in amusement at his tension.She tilted her face up, eyes glittering with mischief. "With my husband watching over me, what could I possibly fear?"