JAY'S POV
The hallway outside the execution room was quieter.
Not empty—never empty—but muted, like the building itself knew better than to intrude.
I walked toward my private quarters, boots slower now, adrenaline ebbing into something heavier. The door shut behind me with a soft click, sealing the night away.
Only then did I exhale.
Not relief.
Release.
Kyle and Damian entered minutes later. Kyle still smelled faintly of gun oil. Damian's expression was unreadable, the way it always was when he was calculating consequences three steps ahead.
"It's done," Kyle said simply.
I nodded. Sat on the edge of the table. My hands were steady—always had been—but my chest felt oddly hollow.
"Send the message," I said. "To Watson."
Damian looked up. "Anonymous?"
"Of course." My voice was flat. "No signatures. No trails. Just the fact."
Kyle smirked faintly. "You want wording?"
I thought for half a second. "No theatrics. Just truth."
Damian typed.
Kaizer Watson is dead.
That was it.
No threat.
No explanation.
A statement, not a warning.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling idly—not searching, just waiting.
Five minutes.
That's all it took.
Breaking news alerts exploded across every screen in the room.
WATSON PATRIARCH FOUND DEAD — CIRCUMSTANCES UNDER INVESTIGATION
UNCONFIRMED REPORTS OF INTERNAL POWER STRUGGLE
MARKETS REACT TO SHOCK WATSON DEATH
Kyle let out a low laugh. "Damn."
Damian poured three drinks without asking. Heavy crystal. Amber liquid catching the light.
"To closure," Kyle said.
I raised my glass last.
Not smiling.
"To endings," I corrected.
We drank.
The burn went down easy.
For a moment—just a moment—something like lightness touched me. Not joy. Not happiness.
Completion.
I stood soon after.
"I'm going home."
Damian nodded. "Driver's ready."
As I walked out of the Raven for the last time that night, the city felt different. Still dangerous. Still alive.
But one ghost had finally stopped breathing.
And yet—
Somewhere deep inside me, a quieter truth stirred.
This wasn't the end.
It was a door.
---
KEIFER'S POV
I didn't react when the news broke.
That was the first thing everyone noticed.
Phones buzzed. Voices rose. The house shifted into controlled chaos—lawyers, advisors, distant relatives suddenly urgent with concern they'd never shown before.
I stood at the window, hands clasped behind my back.
Cold.
Composed.
A Watson.
Inside—
Something loosened.
Not grief.
Never grief.
The man on those screens had been my father in name only. In practice, he was discipline disguised as cruelty. Silence weaponized. Expectations sharpened into blades.
He had broken my mother slowly.
He had taught my brother fear before he taught him confidence.
And me?
He had tried to turn me into himself.
So when I heard he was dead—
I felt something dangerously close to relief.
No.
Justice.
But questions came faster than peace.
"How?" someone asked behind me.
"They don't know yet," another replied. "Possibly internal. Enemies. Power struggle."
I didn't turn around.
Kaizer Watson didn't make enemies lightly.
Which meant whoever killed him didn't act lightly either.
This wasn't sloppy.
This was deliberate.
Precise.
I stared out at London's skyline, mind already assembling patterns.
Anonymous message. Immediate media control. No leaks. No suspects.
My jaw tightened.
This wasn't chaos.
This was execution.
One thought surfaced uninvited.
Jay.
Her face came right in front of me....
I crushed it instantly.
No.
She was gone from this world—from my world. I had made sure of that.
And yet…
I'd learned long ago that the most dangerous people were the ones who didn't need credit.
Who didn't need applause.
Who simply ended things.
I straightened as footsteps approached.
"Keifer," my uncle said carefully, "you'll need to address the board tomorrow."
I nodded once.
Stern.
Unmoved.
He walked away, satisfied.
Alone again, I allowed myself one private truth.
Whoever killed Kaizer Watson—
They didn't do it for power.
They did it for blood.
And for the first time in years, I wondered—
Not who did it.
But whether the past I tried to bury had already grown teeth.
JAY'S POV
The news didn't dramatize it.
They never do when money is involved.
I was seated in the quiet of the estate's upper lounge, legs crossed, tablet balanced loosely in my hand. Morning light filtered through tall windows, pale and indifferent. Tea untouched beside me.
The screen showed black.
Then movement.
A black coffin emerged from the rear of a Watson convoy—polished to a mirror shine, edges sharp enough to feel intentional. No flowers. No color. Just weight.
Kaizer Watson. Patriarch. Industrialist. Visionary.
That's what the caption read.
Visionary.
I tilted my head slightly, watching as the coffin was carried forward by men who had once bowed to him, feared him, depended on him. Their faces were tight, disciplined. Not grief-stricken.
Managed.
The camera pulled back.
The entire Watson clan stood there.
Rows of black suits. Perfect tailoring. Controlled expressions. Generations lined up like assets—sons, daughters, uncles, cousins—power arranged by bloodline.
And there—
My gaze locked.
Keifer.
He stood at the front, slightly ahead of the others. Shoulders squared. Jaw set. Eyes forward.
He didn't look broken.
He looked… finished.
The kind of composure that isn't inherited—earned through survival.
The anchor's voice droned on about legacy and transition of leadership, but I muted it.
I didn't need narration.
I watched as the coffin was lowered.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Chains tightening, earth waiting below like it had been patient all along.
No one spoke.
No one touched the coffin longer than protocol allowed.
This wasn't a farewell.
It was containment.
As the black lid disappeared into the ground, something inside me finally went still.
Not satisfaction.
Closure doesn't feel loud.
It feels quiet.
Damian entered without a sound, stopping a few steps behind me.
"It's done," he said softly.
I nodded once.
"They'll suspect internal enemies," he continued. "Board rivalries. Disgruntled shareholders. No one's looking beyond their own ecosystem."
"Good," I replied.
The camera cut to Keifer again—closer this time.
For half a second, his eyes lowered.
Not to the grave.
To the ground beside it.
As if measuring something invisible.
I felt it then.
Not regret.
Recognition.
Some truths don't need words to travel.
I turned the tablet off.
Black screen. Reflection faint.
Kaizer Watson was underground.
Buried with all the damage he'd caused.
And yet—
This wasn't about him anymore.
This was about what rises after a body is lowered.
I stood, smoothing my jacket.
"Prepare for the 29th..." I said. "Double security. No assumptions."
Damian nodded. "And Keifer?"
I paused only briefly.
"Keifer will do what he wasbeing trained to do," I said evenly. "Rule."
I walked away from the window.
From the screen.
From the past.
The world thought it had witnessed an ending.
I knew better.
It had just watched the ground break open....