Chapter 6 - The Dormitory Intrusion
The damp pre-dawn chill clung to the bricks of the Kappa Rho Delta fraternity house as I bypassed the side security latch with a quiet, practiced click. Inside, the air smelled of stale hops, expensive cologne, and the absolute arrogance of inherited impunity. Room 304. Preston Caldwell.
The door was unlocked, a testament to boys who had never known a consequence in their lives. I stepped into the shadows of the room, my boots making no sound on the imported wool rug. On the king-sized bed, Preston lay sprawled out, snoring lightly, an empty crystal tumbler resting on the nightstand.
Without hesitation, I reached down, grabbed him by the silk collar of his bathrobe, and yanked him upright with a violent, controlled jolt.
Preston’s eyes flew open, wide with sheer, unadulterated panic as he choked on his own breath.
“What the—who the hell are you? Do you know who my father is—!”
I drove my forearm down across his chest, pinning him hard against the headboard while pressing my palm firmly over his mouth, cutting off his screams before they could wake the house.
“Quiet,” I whispered, dropping my voice into that dark, hollow register that had once broken high-value targets in black sites. “You and your little friends broke my daughter’s jaw in six places. You thought your money would erase the footage. But before we talk about what happens to you next, I have a very simple question for a boy who isn't supposed to exist.”
Preston’s pupils dilated. The color vanished entirely from his face.
May you like
“What... what are you talking about?” he whimpered.
“Tell me about Boston,” I said, my eyes locking onto his. “And tell me why a boy who officially died seventeen years ago is living under a stolen name.”
