[Noah's POV]

The whiskey burned going down, but not nearly as much as tons of files staring back at me on my desk.

I leaned back in my leather chair, the ice in my glass clinking softly as I swirled the remaining amber liquid.

It was past midnight. The office was quiet except for the low hum of the city beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows. Most of my legitimate empire was asleep. The illegitimate parts that kept my grand father's legacy alive whether I wanted them or not—never truly rested.

Caleb stood across from me, hands clasped behind his back, expression as unreadable as ever.

"The painting?" I asked.

"Completed," Caleb...