When I entered that ruined warehouse and saw my little sister hanging from the ceiling, bleeding and gagged, something inside me
Richard’s eyes darted frantically between me and my silent men. He was desperately searching for the tell—the bead of sweat, the tremor in my hand—that would prove I was bluffing. There was none. 04:12. “Shoot him!” Richard screamed, the polished veneer of the high-society executive cracking wide open. “Shoot him now!” The heavy-set guard on…