"You're a monster," Richard whispered, his voice cracking.
"I am the Warlord," Ryan corrected softly. He let go of the lapels, taking a step back. "Sign the transfer."
Richard slowly pushed himself off the bookshelf. His hands trembled violently as he reached for the keyboard on his desk.
The shadow war wasn't fought with bullets today. It was fought with absolute, suffocating dominance.
And Ryan had just claimed the final prize.
------
The heavy, suffocating silence of the Columbus Circle office was broken only by the erratic, frantic clicking of Richard's keyboard.
Ryan stood perfectly still, a dark, immovable pillar against the backdrop of the scattered books and spilled whiskey. He didn't rush the older man.
