6:15 AM. Carter Mansion.

Richard Carter hated mornings.

Not because he disliked waking up early. In fact, he had built his entire life around discipline. He was the kind of man who woke before sunrise, read market reports before breakfast, and knew exactly what his employees were doing before they even entered the office.

Mornings were supposed to belong to him.

They were supposed to be quiet.

Predictable.

Controlled.

But that morning, the silence felt different.

It felt like the silence before a storm.

Richard stood in front of the large window of his study, staring at the garden below. The roses were perfectly trimmed. The fountain was running. The...