The Almighty Dominance

Chapter 432

Charles Kingston slammed into Mike's office, shoulder first, blowing past the secretary's outstretched arm and the thin line of authority she tried to hold.

His breath came in short bursts, his face flushed with adrenaline.

"Mike!" he barked, voice shaking with excitement. "I killed Alex. I killed Gilbert Guise's murderer!"

The secretary's composure cracked for only a second. She lowered her head, her tone crisp and respectful. "Sir, I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen."

Mike, seated behind his wide oak desk, didn't raise his voice.

He paused his phone call with a simple, controlled motion, thumb pressing gently on the receiver.

"Hold on," he said into the receiver. Then, turning to Debora with that smug little half-grin, he added, "It's fine, Debora. It's Charles Kingston - the legend himself. Rules don't apply to him, remember?"

Then his attention shifted fully to Charles, his tone smooth, precise, professional.

"Charles," he said evenly, "I'm still on a call. Please give me a moment. Take a seat on the sofa. If you'd like something to drink, just ask Debora."

Charles dropped onto the worn couch and felt something hot and dizzy behind his ribs — excitement and the sick relief of a man whose last lifeline had snapped back into place.

Since the Los Angeles mess his accounts had been frozen.

But with Gilbert Guise's will — with the money he could inherit now - he saw himself climbing straight past debt into power.

Governor of Paris, he thought. Everything. He would own the city and everything in it.

Charles didn't notice Mike's fingers trembling as he jabbed out a quick message: "Charles Kingston is here — securing the Guise will."

Mike slid the phone back into his pocket, forced a calm smile, and acted as if nothing had happened.

He returned to his desk, folding his hands on the blotter. "So. You killed Alexander Leonhart?”

"Yes," Charles said, almost laughing. The laugh came out thin. "Yes, I did."

"Do you have proof?"

"I killed him. What proof do you

leaned forward, "His body. A photo. A video. Anything that ties this

He'd been so caught up in the rush he

chest, the heart. Blood poured out. He's dead, Mike. There's no coming back

"I can't release the will without

slammed his fist on the table. The flat thud echoed in the small room. "I killed him. What

watched him; he watched the hunger, the way

he said finally. "When

the new orphanage they just

barked, "Debora - pull anything on that orphanage in the Vancouver

sir. Give me a few minutes," came the brisk reply over

cup of tea across to Charles.

and we can

that trembled — not from cold but

Mike's phone. He tapped it and the

screen.

bulletin filled the

is wanted. He fled the scene after killing Alexander

Josephine bent over him, wailing. Her sobs tore through the footage

the hospital with a steady hand. "Doctor Winters - this is Mike. We need a status

contact the field team and get you a report right away,"

"Mike, this is Winters,"

in the heart. Cardiac arrest on scene. No pulse on arrival. He's been without signs of life for hours. There's

Mike ended the call and set the phone down

you finally pulled it off," Mike muttered, crossing the room to the iron safe inset in the wall. His fingers danced

battered suitcase and set it on

flat, "Everything's virtualized Access is locked to retinal

and raw hunger ran together in him. "Give it to

camera whirred and framed

irises, then asked for a print. Charles pressed his thumb to the pad like a man signing away the last of

Mike said after a beat. The screen blinked, then filled with folders and numbers. “Everything Gilbert owned — it's yours

damp, the warmth of victory settling over him. Outside, the city moved on, but inside that small room

to life, dumping rows of numbers and property