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Title: Content: He drew in a slow breath, clinging to the balance sheet in his mind. The positives were monumental�foundations laid, doors opened, futures secured. This single flaw was a splinter against the architecture of their triumph. Surely that would count for something - Surely. The hallway stretched ahead like a muted tunnel, every step muffled by the hush of thick carpet. As they neared 607, James slid past Lesley without a word, his movements precise, almost ritualistic. At the door, he raised a knuckle and knocked�three measured taps, spaced with intent: The code. The answer they had agreed upon. A heartbeat of silence, then the latch gave, and James eased the door open. Inside, the air was heavier�dense with the weight of expectation. Minister McBride sat rigid on a leather couch angled toward the balcony doors, a crystal glass of whisky balanced in his grip. The amber liquid shimmered in the lamplight, trembling ever so slightly, betraying the effort it took to hold his composure. The others�four men who shared this apartment with James, all of them loyal to Lesley Black�were scattered along the edges of the room. None spoke. One idly rolled his knuckles; another stared at the ceiling as though searching for answers etched in plaster. A third twirled a set of car keys in slow, hypnotic loops, while the last nursed a half-drained beer, dragging out each sip like a prayer. If phones had been permitted, the glow of screens would have lit every face by now. But they were forbidden. When Carlos occupied a room, silence wasn�t just etiquette�it was law. Only he and the four men who had crossed the ocean with him were allowed that tether to the outside world. The hush thickened, alive and coiled, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Carlos stood at the balcony, a heavy tumbler of whisky cradled in his hand, its amber glow catching the city�s neon heartbeat. Below, Hillbrow throbbed with sound�the bass of unseen clubs pounding through the night like distant artillery. It stirred something long dormant, pulling him back to Bogot�, to the reckless pulse of his youth, when he walked the world as a Sicario under El Loco�Carlos Lehder to most, a godfather to the chosen few. Back then, life had been raw and electric. He owned an apartment not unlike this one, perched over streets that never slept a kingdom of noise and danger. He had forgotten how much he missed it. Page Number: Update Page