CHAPTER THREE
A sleek black Lamborghini rolled to a stop in front of a towering glass skyscraper, its surface reflecting the bright Miami sun. The low purr of the engine faded as John stepped out, dressed in an immaculately tailored navy suit. Without breaking stride, he slipped his sunglasses into his pocket and strode toward the building's entrance.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with polished wood and expensive cologne. Several employees looked up from their desks as he passed.
"Good morning, Mr. Odell," one said politely.
John gave a curt nod, acknowledging them but keeping his pace steady toward the elevators.
He pressed the call button for the elevator to the top floors—floor number one in this building's unusual inverted numbering system, where the executive offices occupied the uppermost level. As the doors began to close, a large hand slid between them, halting their movement.
The doors opened again to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered Black man in a dark suit. His presence carried quiet authority, the kind that didn't need to be spoken. This was Jacob—his father Philip's right-hand man, a figure John had known for as long as he could remember. Jacob had been at his father's side since before John was born.
"John," Jacob greeted in his deep, steady voice, stepping into the elevator. "How are you? I'm also headed to meet your father."
"I'm fine," John replied simply.
The ride up was silent, save for the soft hum of the elevator. When the doors slid open, they stepped into the hushed corridor that led to Philip's office.
The office itself was a grand, private space—a statement of wealth and power. A massive mahogany desk dominated the center, its polished surface catching the light from the tall windows. A gold nameplate read Philip Odell. Behind the desk sat Philip himself, leaning comfortably in a leather chair, a newspaper spread in his hands. Two plush armchairs faced him, inviting but formal.
Philip lowered the paper slightly as the two men entered. "Did you find her yet?" he asked, his eyes locking on his son.
"Yes, Dad," John answered.
Philip removed his reading glasses and placed them neatly on the desk, focusing his full attention on him. "Where did you find her?"
"You won't believe it," John said. "Club Soda."
Philip's brow furrowed. "What were you doing in Club Soda?"
"One of my contacts said they'd seen her going there regularly," John explained, his tone edged with defensiveness. "I decided to try my luck that night."
Philip's gaze sharpened. For all his connections, he had failed to track her down, yet John had located her in one evening. His suspicion shifted toward Jacob, who stood silently to the side.
"Well done, boy," Philip said finally. "Come back later. We'll discuss how we're going to approach her. This is good news."
John left the office with deliberate composure, the click of the door echoing faintly behind him.
Philip turned to Jacob, his voice dropping to a colder register. "Were you the one who told John where to find Kamila?"
"Yes, sir," Jacob replied evenly. "I sent him an anonymous tip a few days ago when I learned her location."
Philip's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"It was a necessary step for the progression of the plan," Jacob said without flinching.
"I don't care how you do it," Philip said, his tone icy. "Get it done. I don't want anomalies in my plan."
Jacob's expression didn't change. "Understood, sir."
---
Flashback.
Jacob had not always been a killer. In another life, he had been many things—a soldier, a survivor—but not an assassin. His loyalty to Philip was born from a debt of life: during the chaos of the Second World War, Philip had saved him. From that day forward, Jacob had sworn unwavering allegiance to him. That loyalty had cost him more than his own soul—it had cost the lives of his best friend Andrew, Andrew's wife Ava, and by extension, their family.
The night it happened was burned into Jacob's memory.
Andrew and Ava had been on the brink of closing the most lucrative deal of their careers, a partnership that would elevate their company to unprecedented heights. But the deal came with danger. Philip's proposition was simple: mix narcotics into their legitimate products and ship them to a buyer in Mexico.
Andrew and Ava refused. "We can't risk our children for money," Ava said firmly. Andrew agreed, insisting they could help Philip in other ways, but smuggling drugs was not an option.
Philip's patience thinned. He argued, pleaded, and finally seemed to concede—his expression softening as he said, "Fine, we'll leave it." Then he stormed out into the night.
Sitting in his car, Philip pulled out his phone and called Jacob.
"I need you to take care of Andrew and his wife," Philip said coldly.
Jacob hesitated. "But sir… they have kids."
Philip's voice sharpened into a snarl. "I tried to reason with Andrew and that woman, but they won't listen. They even told me they'd 'help me after my business collapses.' I don't care what happens to their children. Just get it done."
The call ended abruptly.
Jacob sat in his dimly lit room, the weight of the order pressing down on him. His chest ached. "How can I kill my best friend?" he muttered. But loyalty was loyalty. Ten minutes later, he packed a small bag and left.
The next morning, the news broke. A fiery car explosion had claimed two lives. Investigators said a fuel leak had caused the blast; the bodies were burned beyond recognition. Lab tests confirmed the remains belonged to Andrew and Ava. The police never discovered the truth.
From then on, Jacob was Philip's shadow, eliminating anyone who posed a threat to Odell Industries.
---
Back to the present.
"Did you find out where she lives?" Philip asked.
"Yes," Jacob replied. "She used to work at Club Soda, but she quit last night."
Philip's eyebrows rose slightly. "She was a stripper?"
"Yes, sir."
Philip stroked his beard, a calculating glint in his eyes. "Don't kill her yet. Make sure we've acquired all her shares in Odell Industries first. No sense in wasting resources."
"Understood," Jacob said, and left the office.
Philip leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "You should have stayed in Mexico, where your parents hid you. You might have survived."
He picked up the phone. "Precious, come to my office," he ordered.
Moments later, his secretary stepped in.
"Send some agents to watch Jacob," Philip instructed. "Report anything suspicious."
Precious frowned slightly. "Is there a problem, sir?"
Philip's eyes locked onto hers with an icy stare that made her blood run cold.
"Sorry, sir. I'll get to it right away," she said quickly, hurrying from the room with sweat prickling her forehead.
Outside the office, she exhaled shakily. If it weren't for my contacts in the airlines, I'd never have learned Kami
la was still alive. Philip didn't finish the job with Andrew's children… I'd better keep an eye on him for now.