ADRIEN'S POV
The study was silent, floor-to-ceiling windows shadowed by curtains that never opened.
A glass of whiskey sat untouched near me. I haven't so much as glanced at it.
My father sat behind his massive desk, posture like a blade—straight, sharp and unyielding. Everything about him had always been calculated, even down to how many seconds of silence he allowed before speaking.
"I want to transfer Walton East Airport to Caden," he said finally, voice low and clipped. "Make sure the transition is clean."
I didn't even look up. I was staring at the door.
"You're not listening." His tone didn't change. He never raised his voice. He didn't need to.
I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight. "And why would I care what you're handing him? Let him run it into the ground with the rest of his thug friends."
"Because I want you to transfer it to him."
"You want me to hand over an international hub to a man who rolls dice with gang affiliates?"
"He is your brother."
