Hearing her call his name, Marcus slowly retracted his gaze from Davis. It settled on Jessica for a moment, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile.
"Never expected the great Allen grandson and his wife to visit me. What an honor," he said mockingly, his voice gravelly with age and regret.
Davis wheeled himself further into the cell, his eyes calmly scanning the dreary room.
"Seems like you've been expecting me," Davis replied coldly. "Well, I'm here now."
He studied Marcus's features carefully—calculating, trying to decode the intent behind the man's words. He'd interrogated four others before now, and a pattern had emerged: every trail, every whisper of conspiracy, pointed back to one central cause—an old feud with the Allen family. And if there was one truth Davis believed in, it was this: the enemy of an enemy is often a friend—or at least a useful pawn.
