[ Sinclair Group Headquarters, Paris - 08:30 AM ]
The Sinclair Group headquarters stood in the heart of the Golden Triangle like a monument to arrogance. A monolithic glass tower that seemed to watch over all of Paris, reminding every passerby that Sinclair money never slept.
Inside, the atmosphere was that of a cathedral dedicated to profit: grey-veined white marble, a hushed silence broken only by the hum of data servers, and an army of smooth-faced employees terrified of wrinkling their suits or displeasing the patriarch.
I stepped through the revolving doors with a confidence that hit the artificial calm like a detonation. I wore no badge, and I had no appointment listed on the reception tablets, but the security guards instinctively stepped aside. My name was already circulating through the hallways like a computer virus: Elias, the Devil's Advocate.
Selin was waiting for me in front of the private elevators. She had traded yesterday's suit for a pearl-grey ensemble with a perfect cut, emphasizing her stature as a queen in exile in the middle of her own empire.
Selin: "You're a minute late, Elias. My father detests imprecision."
Elias: "Imprecision is a luxury I leave to people like your brother. A lawyer always arrives at the exact moment the chaos becomes unmanageable. Neither before, nor after."
I saw a vein pulse at her temple. She couldn't stand my tone, and that was exactly what I was looking for... it was fun to tease her.
The elevator rose silently to the top floor.
The place where decisions changed the course of global stock markets. When the doors opened, the luxury climbed another notch. Victor Sinclair's office unfolded before us. The patriarch stood behind his massive desk of fossilized wood.
He seemed to have aged ten years in a single night, dark circles hollowing a face that was usually ruthless. He stared at me, his eyes squinting as he tried to probe my intentions. He was used to reading his adversaries like open books, but facing me, he found only a mirror of ice.
To him, I was merely an expensive pawn he had just bought to save his son.
Victor: "Elias. My daughter informed me of your… requirements. I find your demand for an office within my headquarters particularly bold. No one enters here without my explicit consent."
Elias: "Boldness is what separates those who survive from those who end up behind bars, Victor. If I am to clean the blood your son leaves on your silk carpets, I want a front-row seat. I don't work remotely."
The silence that followed was heavy. Victor seemed stung by my use of his first name—a blatant lack of respect in this sanctuary.
Victor: "Fine. Settle in. But remember one essential thing: you are here for Julian's file, nothing else. Do not presume to poke your nose into the ongoing business of the Sinclair Group."
I gave him a polite smile, the kind reserved for the condemned who don't yet know the sentence has been passed.
Elias: "Don't worry, Victor. I know exactly why I am here."
He pointed toward a glass-walled office located directly across from Selin's. Once Victor returned to his crisis calls, she followed me inside and closed the door with a sharp snap. She stood before me, arms crossed, her gaze burning with defiance.
Selin: "Fine. Let's not waste time. We sent our best experts to the scene. They searched the neighborhood, checked the cameras, questioned the local informants... We have absolutely nothing. Not a trace of that anonymous call to emergency services. So, tell me, Mr. Devil... What do we do now? Or do your 'dark' methods limit themselves to decorating an office?"
I didn't answer right away. I sat slowly in my leather chair, pivoting the seat toward the floor-to-ceiling window to contemplate the Seine snaking in the distance. The silence stretched, heavy, until I felt her annoyance radiating through the room.
Elias: "I don't like starting a workday without having had my coffee, Selin."
Her eyes widened, her jaw tightening violently.
Selin: "Are you mocking me? My brother is facing prison, our empire is reeling, and you're talking to me about coffee?"
I pivoted my chair back toward her, a faint smile on my lips.
Elias: "I'm joking. Relax, you're going to pull a muscle."
Before she could retort, I slid a manila folder across the desk. She grabbed it, perplexed. Inside were high-definition photos of a man in his fifties leaving a dingy bar, as well as screenshots of bank accounts and gambling debt records.
Elias: "Your 'experts' should find a new line of work, Selin. The man's name is Marc Vallet. He's the one who saw everything."
Selin snatched up the file, her eyes wide. She flipped through the photos: Vallet in front of his car, Vallet at home, and most importantly, a screenshot of his personal bank account.
Selin: "How did you do this? We spent ten hours looking for this witness!"
Elias: "How can the Devil reveal his methods... Vallet isn't a stranger. He's the head of security for your estate in Normandy. He was there, he saw Julian's car, and he thought he could play the Good Samaritan to ease his conscience. But you see..."
I flipped to the final page: a medical file and gambling debt statements.
Elias: "His wife needs an expensive operation, and he owes sixty thousand euros to some very unpleasant people. We don't need to convince him, Selin. We just need to offer him a way out that he won't be able to refuse."
The silence that followed was delicious. Selin looked at me as if I were a ghost, or a malevolent genius. She finally understood why her father had accepted my conditions.
Selin: "And now? Do we send someone to talk to him?"
Elias: "No. We send no one. I will handle it myself tonight. I want him to understand that his life hangs by a single thread that I hold between my fingers. You, you will settle for accompanying me and observing. It would be a pity if you found yourself tied to all this, wouldn't it?"
I stood up, buttoning my suit jacket with calculated slowness.
Elias: "Watch closely how we make a problem disappear, Miss Sinclair. You might learn things that your business schools will never teach you."