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?"

bristled. "I killed him.

didn't hurry. He leaned forward, "His body. A photo.

thinned. He'd been so caught up in the rush he hadn't thought

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

"I can't release

thud echoed in the small room. "I killed him. What else do you

him; he watched the hunger, the way ambition had warped

finally. "When did you do

the new orphanage they just

grabbed the receiver and barked, "Debora - pull anything on that orphanage in the Vancouver slum.

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

cup of tea across to Charles.

If you actually killed him, and we can prove it, Gilbert Guise's

that trembled — not from cold but from an adrenaline that tasted like victory

link pinged on Mike's phone. He tapped it and the feed

screen.

bulletin filled the

fled the scene after killing Alexander Leonhart victim stabbed in the heart -

gurney, Josephine bent over him, wailing.

steady hand. "Doctor Winters - this

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

phone rang. "Mike, this is Winters," the doctor

stabbed in the heart. Cardiac arrest on scene. No pulse on arrival. He's been without signs of

Mike ended the call and set the phone down like he was

off," Mike muttered, crossing the room to the iron safe inset

carried out a battered suitcase and set it on the table. Inside

to retinal seans

Charles breathed, barely containing himself. Gratitude and raw hunger ran

password. The camera whirred and framed Charles's

then asked for a print. Charles pressed his thumb to the pad like a

with folders and numbers.

Outside, the city moved on, but inside that small room a new order had

screen blinked to life, dumping rows of numbers