CARLSON leaned back in the cracked leather armchair, the faint click of the call ending still echoing in his mind. The grin that spread across his face was dark, and triumphant, the kind of smile that never touched his eyes but told the truth about the poison simmering behind them.

He flicked his phone onto the low table cluttered with whiskey glasses and half-burned cigars. The room around him buzzed quietly with the memories of the past.

Carlson ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing ahead. So, Oswald’s precious secret was real, his father has been so sharp to find out, this secret, hidden away like a chained...