Anthony Morrison knew the exact second his life stopped cracking and started collapsing.
It was not when Allison exposed him in front of Boston's elite.
It was not when Sharon disappeared.
It was not even when the media began twisting his name into something dirty and unstable.
No.
It was when the hidden safe behind his wine wall opened.
Because that file was not evidence.
It was a graveyard.
And now Allison Croft had it.
⸻
Anthony Morrison
Anthony stood in the security room of the Morrison estate, one hand braced on the desk, staring at the monitor as if hatred alone could reverse time.
The west corridor feed had glitched.
Not by accident.
Not naturally.
His unauthorized reset had cut standard monitoring for ninety seconds, just enough time for the men he hired to enter unnoticed.
Or at least, that had been the plan.
Now the feeds were back online, and all he saw was chaos.
Red alarm lights.
Staff running.
Security scrambling.
