Rain hammers against the windows of his private study like bullets from heaven, each drop exploding against the glass in a relentless symphony. The autumn storm has turned the night pitch black, and Elena Hayes sits motionless at his mahogany desk, a cigarette balanced between his fingers while his sharp gray eyes scan through stacks of sensitive business documents.

The amber glow from his desk lamp cuts through the darkness, casting long shadows across his angular features. Wisps of cigarette smoke curl upward in lazy spirals, creating an almost ethereal haze that dances in the warm light. The study feels like a sanctuary—leather-bound books lining the walls, expensive whiskey gleaming in crystal decanters, and the faint scent of tobacco mixing with the smell of rain seeping through the cracked window.

He's completely absorbed in his work, deaf to everything except the numbers and names on the pages before him. Each document represents another thread in the vast web of the Sovereign Group's operations—some legitimate, others decidedly less so.