FLASHBACK

The rain poured in heavy sheets that night.

The city streets glistened under the flickering streetlights as Richard Westwood

sat inside his black car, parked behind an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.

His gloved hands rested on the steering wheel, his cold breath fogging up the windows.

The meeting was late — intentionally late. No witnesses. No mistakes.

Moments later, headlights sliced through the darkness.

A rusty pickup truck pulled up beside him. The driver stepped out — tall, thin, and visibly nervous — Author Cladwell.

rain-soaked jacket clung to his frame as he approached Richard's car, glancing around as if someone might be watching.

Richard opened the passenger door with a soft click, motioning him inside. The door shut, muffling the rain's heavy drumbeat.

"You're late," Richard said, his voice low, almost a growl.

Cladwell wiped his wet hands on his pants, trying to calm his nerves. "Sorry, Mr. Westwood. Just wanted to be careful."

Richard's eyes narrowed. "Let's make this simple. You understand the arrangement?"

Cladwell swallowed hard. "Yeah. The accident. I get it done. No survivors."

Richard pulled out a thick brown envelope from his coat and placed it on the dashboard between them. "Half now. Half after."

Cladwell's eyes flicked to the envelope, his fingers twitching. "And if something goes wrong? If someone finds out?"

"No one will find out," Richard snapped, leaning closer.

"This company — the one I built with John and Emily Harrison — was mine long before they came into the picture.

They were partners, yes. But they forgot whose vision this was.

They were going to block the expansion. Hold me back. I won't allow that."

His voice turned colder. "This isn't just about business.

It's about survival. I'm not losing everything because of their weak morality."

Cladwell shifted in his seat, glancing again at the envelope. "The child… their daughter—Hazel—what about her?"

Richard's jaw tensed. "The universe can deal with her.

You focus on the parents. Make it look clean — reckless driving, truck malfunction — whatever you need.

After tonight, the company will be mine."

Cladwell reached for the envelope with trembling hands, feeling the weight of the cash inside.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "If you say so, Mr. Westwood."

Richard placed a hand firmly on Cladwell's shoulder.

"Remember — you never knew me. You never met me. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone…"

He let the sentence hang, but his icy stare made the threat clear as crystal.

Cladwell nodded quickly. "I understand."

Richard let go, sitting back in his seat, watching as the man exited into the rain.

The truck started up and drove off into the night.

He sat alone in the darkness, letting out a slow breath. In a few short hours, it would all be done. John and Emily Harrison would be dead. Hazel would be orphaned. And the company — Sinclair Holdings — would finally be his alone.

Richard glanced at his own reflection in the rearview mirror, eyes cold and resolute.

"From tonight forward," he whispered to himself, "Richard Westwood rises. Victor Sinclair is dead."