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

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

grin thinned. He'd been so caught up in the

Blood poured out. He's dead, Mike. There's no coming

can't release the

echoed in the small room. "I killed him. What

the way ambition had warped

finally. "When

Charles said. "Near the new orphanage

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

few minutes," came the

across to Charles. It steamed

actually killed him, and we

— not from cold but from an adrenaline that

He tapped it and the feed pushed to the

screen.

filled

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

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

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

and get you a report right away," Doctor Winters

rang. "Mike, this is

on arrival. He's been

you." Mike ended the call and set the phone

Mike muttered, crossing the room to the iron safe inset in the wall. His

and set it on the table. Inside sat a compact terminal and

virtualized Access is locked to retinal seans and fingerprint

breathed, barely containing himself. Gratitude and raw

camera whirred and framed Charles's

a print. Charles pressed his thumb to the pad like a man

filled with

settling over him. Outside, the city moved on, but inside that

of numbers and property