The antique tea set was practically irreplaceable. Old Mr. Blake had been hesitant to even use it, fearing it might get chipped before their world tour.
Now, pieces of a mutilated corpse were resting against his pristine porcelain.
The older man's face flushed a violent crimson. Blind rage wiped out his tranquil mood. He slammed his hand against the table and roared, "What is this filth?"
"Debbie Harris's fingers," Sebastian said flatly. "Mailed to my office today. Read the note."
He slid the blood-smeared paper across the table.
Old Mr. Blake glared at the rusty brown stains, refusing to touch it. Just knowing it was Debbie's blood made his skin crawl. Sebastian held it up so his father could read the jagged handwriting.
Old Mr. Blake scoffed in utter disgust. "A debt is a debt. She's a degenerate. She owes massive gambling debts, so they took two of her fingers. That's the rule of the gutter. Do they really think threatening us with a livestream will force our hand?"
Sebastian's jaw tightened. His father's callous reaction made it crystal clear he wouldn't part with the $1 billion debt to save face. Sebastian had foolishly assumed the old man might feel a shred of responsibility, considering he was the one who had slept with her all those years ago, willing or not.
"So what's the play, Dad?" Sebastian demanded.


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