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. What

forward, "His body. A

up in the rush he

stabbed him — right in the chest, the heart. Blood poured out. He's dead, Mike. There's no coming back

can't

to!" Charles slammed his fist on the table. The flat thud echoed in the small room. "I killed him. What else do you want

he watched the hunger, the way ambition had warped Charles' face into something

he said finally. "When did you

said. "Near the new orphanage they

barked, "Debora - pull anything on that orphanage in

a few minutes," came the brisk reply over

of tea across to Charles. It steamed

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

the cup with a hand that trembled — not from cold but from

phone. He tapped it and the feed pushed

screen.

filled the

reports a murder. Charles Kingston is wanted. He fled the scene after killing Alexander Leonhart victim stabbed in

onto a gurney, Josephine bent over him, wailing. Her sobs tore through the footage like a live

didn't wait. He dialed the hospital with a steady hand. "Doctor Winters - this is Mike. We need a

team and get you a report right away," Doctor

"Mike, this is Winters," the doctor said without

arrest on scene. No pulse on arrival. He's been

and set

iron safe inset in the wall. His

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

is locked to retinal

Gratitude and raw hunger ran together in

camera whirred and framed Charles's

swept across his irises, then asked for a print. Charles pressed his thumb to the pad

with folders and numbers. “Everything Gilbert owned —

city moved on, but inside that small room a

to life, dumping rows of numbers and property titles across