I watched the group of businessmen huddled around Franklin Duval, their nervous expressions betraying their unease despite his confident reassurances.
"Gentlemen, relax," Franklin said, casually adjusting his expensive cufflinks. "These rumors about Liam Knight are nothing more than ghost stories. The dead don't return."
Caldwell, standing slightly apart from the others, nodded eagerly. "Franklin's right. Knight is finished. We have nothing to worry about."
The businessmen exchanged doubtful glances. I could practically smell their fear from where I stood outside the doorway.
"But what if—" one of them began.
The massive double doors suddenly burst open.
I strode in with Roman Volkov and Eamon Greene flanking me. The room fell into stunned silence.
"Impossible," someone whispered.
Caldwell's face drained of all color. His champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor. The sound echoed through the silent room like a gunshot.
