"Mr. Sloan, your brother is dead."
Roderick Sloan sat in his office and replayed those words over and over in his head. He'd sent the messenger away within seconds of delivering the message. Not because he was distraught, but because he was free.
His entire life, he'd stood in Gabriel's shadow. Whatever the decision, Gabriel had had the final sign-off. But now...now Roderick had the final say. Now he could take control of his brother's finances and murc army. The Midlands lay at Roderick's feet, and all he had to do was to reach out and take them.
He spent several moments composing his features into a proper sadness before placing the call to MRC Central. When President Darville was patched through, Roderick had managed to bring a tear to his eye.
"I heard the news. I'm sorry for your loss, Roderick," the president said.
"Thank you, Madame President."
"Your brother is the fourth administrator to have been killed in the past year, all without a confirmed suspect. I'm growing concerned about the security of the Midlands," she went on.
"There are small groups of riffraff. Their views are spreading among the youth like a disease. With your permission, I will engage the other administrators and quash this uprising before these hooligans can unite." He neglected to mention that he'd already bought—or killed—all of the administrators within a two-hundred-mile radius of Clearwater.
There was a delay in her response. Finally, she asked, "What do you need?"
He fought to keep himself from smiling. "I'm glad you asked."