He was the most feared and hated man in six big cities. He owned warehouses, ranches, companies, cabins, and undeveloped property in ten states. He was never crossed. He got whatever he wanted, when he wanted it. He paid people to do the things he didn’t want to do, like stake-out all night in front of his newfound daughter’s house.

He lounged on his leather chaise staring at the photos on his phone. They were sent to him over a course of months. First, was a woman. Blonde, flirtatious, scantily clad. Then another photo of her crying, pleading for money. She had just accused him of fathering her child, the one she gave to an orphanage, the one she wanted to blackmail him with to pay for her drug habit.

He had her wasted that night, gave her drugs, too many. She died. He didn’t want any connections to her. If someone found her daughter and tied him to them; if they snooped around, dug deep, asked the right people, they might find out he killed her. He didn’t want loose ends. He always got what he wanted.