Saturday morning broke calm and deceptively peaceful. The sky was clear, the weather still-as if the world had decided to hold its breath.

Kelvin sat in the narrow seat of a commercial airliner, headphones clamped over his ears. He'd bypassed his father's private jet without explanation, choosing anonymity over comfort.

He didn't trust the urge that had pushed him here.

For the first time in years, he wanted to disappear into a crowd. Economy class suited that purpose. No attention. No recognition. Just another face among strangers who would forget him the moment they landed.

Music thundered in his ears, but it failed to drown out his thoughts. His fingers closed around the medal resting against his chest, rubbing its edges until the familiar ridges pressed into his skin. The same medal that had haunted him for four years. The same one that-thanks to an exotic dancer in a smoke-filled club-had finally begun to talk.

Not willingly. Not cleanly.

But it had talked. Out of money and pleasure.

The information had led him here. To a name. A place. And to the man in the sketch folded inside his carry-on. The man whose face had followed him into his sleep.

Kelvin opened his laptop, forcing his focus onto the screen. Hotels scrolled past in a blur until one name stopped him cold.

Kempinski Hotel.

One of Ghana's finest hotels in Accra.

A place where powerful men slept comfortably-and dangerous ones hid in plain sight.

A thin smile curved his mouth as he clicked Book. The confirmation flashed on-screen, final and irreversible. With his lodging secured, there were no more excuses. No more delays.

Next came the hunt.

If he found the man in the sketch-and Kelvin had learned that it was a fragile word-he would get answers. About the medal. About the accident. About his mother's death.

And once that blood-soaked thread was pulled to its end, he would turn to Mr MarQueen's assignment.

But instinct tightened in his gut, warning him not to rush.

Before confronting the man, before knocking on any doors, Kelvin needed to understand the clan he was walking into. Their history. Their codes. Their methods.

Some doors, once opened, didn't close again.

And Kelvin had a sinking feeling that by the time this plane touched down in Accra, he would already be too deep to turn back.

***

Back at the Andersons' mansion, activity rippled through the enclave like a well-oiled machine. Servants moved with purpose-cleaning marble corridors, preparing meals in the pantry, tending to the manicured hedges that framed the estate. Nothing here was chaotic. Every movement followed an unspoken order, shaped by years of fear and discipline.

The Anderson household never slept. It merely shifted gears.

Miss Kate Anderson was out in the community with a small escort, moving from block to block, checking in on families loyal to the clan. Her presence was deliberate. Measured. She listened more than she spoke, reminding them-gently-that the Andersons still watched over their own. That grievances would be heard. That unity mattered.

Ever since her husband's death, Kate had worked tirelessly to keep the clan intact through restraint rather than force. She believed loyalty endured longer when it was nurtured, not beaten into submission. But every attempt she made to soften the edges of leadership was undone by her eldest son.

Julius ruled with fear, and fear answered only to him.

Barbara, her daughter, was easier to guide-or so Kate believed. That morning, Barbara was at the range, running shooting drills under the watchful eyes of clan enforcers. It wasn't her idea. It never was. Julius had insisted, and she had obeyed.

She hated every second of it.

Barbara despised the blood-soaked legacy she had been born into. She wanted nothing to do with the family business, yet it clung to her like a shadow she couldn't outrun. More than anything, she envied her missing younger brother. Wherever he was, at least he was free. Free from this mansion. Free from this name. Free to become something other than a weapon shaped by someone else's will.

Julius, however, had already become exactly what the clan required.

The eldest son and acting head of the Anderson family was in his room, asserting dominance in the only way he understood. The sounds spilling from behind the closed door were harsh, unrestrained-less about pleasure and more about power.

Inside, a woman was pinned beneath him, bent forward on her knees, palms flat against the mattress, completely exposed, while Julius thrust into her relentlessly. Reduced to something small and voiceless beneath his weight. Julius moved without concern, without restraint. Her protests barely registered. If anything, they seemed to harden his resolve.

Control was everything to him.

He pushed her face down further, pressing her chest into the mattress as he drove harder, faster, and deeper. Her screams grew louder.

The door flew open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kate's voice cut through the room, sharp and unyielding.

Julius didn't stop. He turned his head just enough to acknowledge his mother's presence, his expression dark with irritation rather than shame.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?
You see it clearly enough," he snapped. "Don't pretend otherwise."

"Besides, don't you knock?"

"You have a meeting with the elders," Kate said coldly. "This morning. And you are here doing this."

He laughed-a short, humourless sound. "They can wait."

The woman beneath him shifted, her eyes finding Kate's. Silent. Desperate. Broken. Kate held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before returning her attention to her son.

"This clan does not wait on indulgence," Kate said. "It waits on leadership."

Julius finally stilled, his jaw tightening. He looked at his mother then-not as a son, but as a rival challenging his authority.

"I'll come when I'm ready."

Kate stepped closer, her voice dropping. "You will come now. Or you will remind the elders why your father ruled longer than you ever will."

Silence stretched between them.

Kate turned and walked out, stopping only at the doorway. "Dress," she said without looking back. "The great hall. Do not make me return."

The door slammed shut behind her.

Inside the room, Julius cursed under his breath-but beneath the rage was something far more dangerous.

Julius bent down and whispered into the lady's ear. "Don't you even think this is over!"