The central parking garage of the high-rise district was shimmering under the brutal midday sun, but the candy-apple red Ferrari parked in the center seemed to absorb all the light. It wasn't just a car; it was a manifesto of ego.

Marcus paced the rotting wooden planks of Pier 49, chewing his fingernails to the quick. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He snatched it out, answering on the first ring.

"Is it done?" Marcus demanded.

"It's done," Graves's voice crackled over the line, sounding tight and strained. "He's dead. Come to the third floor of the main tower. Come alone."

Marcus hung up, a twisted, euphoric grin spreading across his face. He had won. He had beaten the unbeatable Thorne empire. He would take pictures of the body, use it to blackmail the Thorne family, and take back his company. His delusions of grandeur completely clouded his judgment as he drove his rental car toward the construction site.

He rushed past the gates, sprinting up the concrete stairs to the third floor. The floodlights were off now, the floor illuminated only by the moonlight piercing the fog.

"Graves?" Marcus called out, stepping into the open space. "Where is he? Where's the body?"