Victor shifted in his seat, studying Rex’s calm face. He hesitated for a beat before speaking again, as if unsure whether to break the weight in the air. Rex gave him the faintest nod, the kind that said go on.
"I had the company run those plates from last night," Victor began, his tone low, deliberate. "Got the results early this morning. Those cars weren’t random... They’re all registered to a shell under a security outfit called Blackwell & Pryce. Private contractors. Discreet. Expensive. And they’re working for someone named Stanton Greaves."
Rex’s eyes didn’t change much, but Victor could tell he was listening.
"I had the company dig deeper after last night," Victor said quietly. "Ran a full background check on the man pulling the strings. His name’s Stanton Greaves... from the Greaves family in New York."
"Old-money type," Victor continued, leaning back with a slow exhale. "The kind of family that’s been mingling with the top of New York high society for over a century, as for their exact origin, we need to research deeply. They’re not flashy types, you can see in the media, and honestly, they don’t even need to be. The name alone opens doors. They’ve got stakes in banking, real estate, and media. Most of it is locked behind trusts and holding companies, so it’s hard to tell where the family ends and their influence begins." For more chapters visit Nove1Fire.net
Victor glanced out the tinted window before going on.
"Stanton was ’stationed’ here a few years back, supposedly to oversee the family’s West Coast business. But from what I’ve heard? Most of his time is spent throwing his weight around in L.A. He’s the type who knows everyone worth knowing ... city hall contacts, quiet deals with studio execs, a stake in half a dozen production companies. And the kicker? He’s got pull in casting for certain films and shows. He’s not just in the room... half the time, he is the room."
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
"I even heard he’s a donor over at UCLA. Keeps his public image spotless... charity galas, scholarships, photo ops shaking hands with the mayor. But underneath? It’s a different story. There are whispers about the actresses he’s destroyed. He’s a predator, Rex, and a smart one. Never touches the big names, never picks a fight with powerhouse agencies or anyone with dangerous backers. No... he hunts the ones who can’t fight back. The girls from small agencies, the desperate ones looking for a break. Sometimes, they’re even sold out by their own people."
Rex’s expression barely shifted, but a faint shadow crossed his gaze. His jaw set, the movement subtle enough to go unnoticed unless someone was looking for it. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask questions, but Victor could feel the temperature in the room drop just a little. Rex’s eyes had gone still — the kind of stillness that came right before a storm.
Victor frowned slightly, watching him. For a man who usually carried that lazy, unbothered calm like a second skin, Rex suddenly felt... sharp. Like a blade just pulled from its sheath.
He hesitated, then asked in a careful tone, "Boss... you know him?"
Rex’s eyes moved to meet his, slow and steady. There was no smile, no quip, just that unreadable calm.
Rex’s gaze shifted, slow and deliberate. "We crossed paths last night," he said, voice flat, almost casual. But there was a shadow under the words, something that made Victor straighten a little in his seat. "Keep an eye on him." No matter how confident he was, he would never underestimate his enemy.
Victor’s lips curved into a thin, humorless smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach the eyes.
Victor’s smile was thin and humorless. "Already done. The company’s flagged him. He’s on the watchlist." His voice dropped, tone turning heavier. "And you know... we’re not vegetarian either." His tone dropped lower, almost casual, but with that dangerous undertone only men in their line of work carried. "Guy like him? Old money, big mouth, thinks power’s the same as invincibility. We’ve dealt with far worse than some snot-nosed heir who’s been playing king in L.A. for a few years."
He leaned back, but his eyes stayed locked on Rex. "That bastard might have money, connections, a family name that can buy him a hundred lifetimes of comfort... but in front of bullets, none of that matters. Power means nothing when you’re staring down a barrel. If he so much as twitches in your direction, we’ll know before his shadow even reaches you."
Rex didn’t answer, but the faint curve at the corner of his lips said enough. It didn’t matter how bad Stanton was, or how many lives he’d ruined before... none of it mattered. If he dared to lay a finger on Monica now... he would make sure they had a very personal meeting, the kind that ended with one man walking away and the other never walking again.
With a top security company at his back ... the kind that had dealt with warlords, cartel bosses, and politicians who thought themselves untouchable, there was nothing to fear. These men weren’t the kind to talk about rules or mercy. They weren’t vegetarians. They were predators, and when a target was marked, it didn’t matter how high he sat or how deep his pockets ran.
Victor was right. No matter how many shields of money or influence a man wrapped himself in, in the end... everyone bleeds the same.
And if necessary, he wasn’t the type to mind getting his hands dirty.
Victor glanced at him, then shifted his gaze to the window, as if reading the same thought in Rex’s expression. "Anyway," he muttered, "the company already has him on the watchlist. He so much as breathes wrong near her, we’ll know."
Rex didn’t reply, but the silence between them was enough. Outside, the city blurred past, neon bleeding into the night. His mind wasn’t on the lights or the noise... it was on Stanton, and the kind of man who thought power made him untouchable.
Men like that never understood the rules until someone broke them over their heads.