Page 78 of Blind Justice

He sat up in bed, exhaling sharply. The weight of his empire pressed down on his chest, heavier than usual. Hilton was dead. But pieces of him were found. He should have been mulch.

Maxim shouldn’t have trusted the people he paid to complete the job. Noah Kandor was still breathing. He didn’t have leverage over him. And he likely had Hilton’s records.

Maxim had no idea if Hilton had passed on the real information. He needed to know. Silence filled the mansion as he slid out of bed, slipping on his robe. His bare feet made no sound as he moved through the house. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. He knew the way.

Down the hall. Past the grand staircase to his study.

The heavy oak doors groaned slightly as he pushed them open. The air smelled like old books, leather, and expensive bourbon. His sanctuary. His war room.

Maxim moved toward the massive desk, his fingers brushing the smooth mahogany.

Behind it, a steel safe was embedded in the wall, hidden behind an unassuming bookshelf.

He pressed his palm against a small panel, let the biometric scanner confirm his identity.

A faint click.

The shelf shifted, revealing the heavy safe door. He spun the dial, entering the combination from muscle memory. Another click. The door swung open.

Inside, neatly stacked documents, bundles of cash, and weapons sat in organized compartments. But Maxim reached for only one thing. His ledger. A simple black leather book, its pages holding his entire empire in handwritten ink. Not because he didn’t trust digital records—he did. But this? This was his truth.

Maxim closed the safe and moved back to his desk, setting the book down in front of him. He flipped it open. Names. Dates. Amounts. Every deal. Every bribe. Every favor owed and every debt collected. The names on the back pages were growing. It listed every person he had leverage over and every person when leverage failed. He stared at the last name on the failure list—Robert Hilton.

Hilton had been the only one who knew the full scope of the operation. And now, Hilton was dead. He betrayed him. He shared the information with someone else, wanting more money than Maxim was paying him. It was true, there was no honor among thieves. And when that person failed to come through, he went to the U.S. Attorney’s office and Noah Kandor.

Maxim’s fingers tightened around the edge of the book. Did Hilton pass on the truth before he died? Had Kandor figured out the data buried inside? Did he know what Maxim had done to achieve his goals?

A muscle ticked in his jaw. If Kandor knew what was buried in those records, then Maxim needed more leverage. Noah Kandor could be his greatest problem.

Maxim exhaled, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He needed to find something. Some way to control Kandor. And there was his line in the sand. He had done a lot of things to get where he was. But he didn’t kill cops.

It wasn’t out of morality—he had none of that left. It was practicality. Cops were messy deaths. They made people look too closely. And yet, someone had tried to kill Kandor and his lawyer. Someone made that choice. And it wasn’t him.

His fingers drummed against the desk. His people were searching. Digging.

Soon, he would have his answer. And when he did? Whoever crossed that line would regret it. Because Maxim Fairchild didn’t clean up other people’s mistakes. He buried them.

A faint knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in," he called, his voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The door opened to reveal Thomas Gale, his head of security, flanked by another guard, Luke Andrews. A recent promotion. Both men were tall, imposing, their presence a stark reminder of the world Maxim had meticulously built.

"Good morning, Mr. Fairchild," Luke greeted him, his tone clipped but respectful.

Maxim nodded. "Luke. Thomas. What brings you here this early?"

Luke stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Boss, the storm. I think it might be best to cancel your schedule today.”

Maxim studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the door. "Fine. Join me in the dining room. I’ll need coffee to deal with my wife. She thinks we should just use one of my big trucks to drive to her mother’s.” He chuckled.

Both men nodded sympathetically. The two men stepped back, and Maxim stood, stretching his stiff shoulders. On his way out, he paused by the large windows that overlooked the estate. The snow was falling heavier now, the kind of relentless storm that blanketed the roads and kept even the hardiest travelers indoors.

He frowned, his mind drifting to his children. Last night, they begged him to take them to visit their grandmother in town. He’d promised to decide in the morning, but the weather made the choice for him. The children would have to wait. Perhaps that was for the best. His mother-in-law always asked too many questions, her probing nature a liability at a time like this.

Maxim left the study and headed toward the dining room, his thoughts returning to his worries. If his other situation wasn't handled carefully, it could all come crashing down. As the storm outside deepened, so too did the one brewing inside his carefully constructed world.

* * *

The hospital felt heavieras the night dragged on, as if the walls themselves knew this was the last time Ruth would be inside them.

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