The Fall of Vincent

Third-Person POV

The dimly lit room reeked of expensive cigars and whiskey, but Vincent Creek barely noticed as he stood in front of his desk, eyes glued to the laptop screen. His fingers tapped impatiently on the keyboard as he attempted the third transfer to the Russian Mafia.

Transaction declined.

His heart pounded faster.

"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath.

He tried another account.

Frozen.

Vincent's jaw clenched as he slammed his palm against the desk. He couldn't understand what was happening. He had moved his funds to offshore accounts. He'd hidden his money in places the authorities would never find.

Then it hit him.

"Aiden," he growled.

Of course. Who else had the brains and power to pull this off?

Vincent's mind raced. The Russians wouldn't wait for excuses. The deal had been set, millions in cash for their protection and resources. If he didn't deliver, he'd be signing his own death warrant.