Page 209 of I See You

The silence that followed wasn’t peace. It was the calm before bodies hit the floor.

“Your wife is alive. Unharmed—for now,” Carlos said, trying to regain control of the room. Truth was, he didn’t know if she was or not. He was grasping, hoping to get his granddaughter back before this all slipped beyond repair.

“So is Celine. But I don’t do ‘for now.’”

Hassan’s words sliced through the air, dropping the room’s temperature by ten degrees. His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It was the kind that made killers flinch.

He nodded once at Roman, who slid a thick folder across the table. Carlos eyed it warily before flipping it open, expecting threats. Instead—bank statements. Wire transfers. Classified federal reports. As he flipped through, the smug calm on his face faltered.

“The nigga you helping… your great-nephew,” Hassan started, his voice ice.

Carlos looked up, startled—his expression giving away what he thought was buried. Hassan grinned, slow and vicious, feeding off the way Carlos clenched his jaw.

“Yeah, we know. Wasn’t hard. Grayson kept your name. Braxton didn’t. Thought changing it to his daddy’s would keep him hidden. It didn’t.”

Carlos turned back to the folder, flipping faster now. His hand stilled on a page.

“Braxton’sbeenbleedingyoudry.Movingmoneyintooffshore accounts under shell names tied to him. And that’s just the first cut.” Hassanleanedforwardslightly,lettingtheweightofhiswords settle.“He’stalkingtothefeds.Gave‘emeverything—yourports, your routes, your accounts. He’s gutting your empire from the inside, and selling it piece by piece to save his own ass.”

Carlos didn’t respond. His silence was loud. His eyes narrowed on the documents like they were poison. For a man who built his reputation on being five steps ahead, this—this—was a blindside.

“Funny,” Hassan continued. “You pride yourself on strategy. On control. But you made two mistakes that’s gonna cost you everything.”

Carlos looked up.

“One—you didn’t kill me when I was in that house, watchin’ my parents bleed out.”

Pause.

“And two—you backed the wrong fucking man.”

Silence wrapped the room tight. No one moved. No one breathed too loud.

“So we can go back and forth about Braxton kidnapping my wife,” Hassan said, calm but lethal. “Or we can do what we both do best— handle business.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Carlos. “Either way, I’m getting her back. The only question is—do you want to die beside your nephew, or live long enough to see your granddaughter walk across that graduation stage?”

Carlos stared back, no longer a king in the room—just another man who underestimated the devil.

Carlos lowered the folder slowly, his breaths shallow, deliberate. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice softer now, stripped of bravado—but still laced with sharpness, clinging to whatever power he had left.

“Does it matter?” Hassan fired back, his tone calm, but laced with venom. “The man you helped raise? He’s the reason they’ll kick your door in. Unless you move first.”

Carlos leaned back in his chair, his eyes no longer burning, but calculating. Exactly what Hassan wanted.

He could see it—Carlos mentally playing the board, mapping the risk, scanning the fallout. That was the difference between men like them.Carloswasabusinessmanfirst.Alwayshadbeen.Hedidn’t blinkwhen he had Hassan’s parents murdered. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think about the six-year-old boy curled in blood, or what kind of monster that loss would breed. He only saw numbers. A theft. A retaliation.

And now, that same cold strategy was working against him.

Hassan knew what he was doing. Everyone had a weakness. Even kings. His father’s was gambling. His was family. That’s where Carlos struck.

And that’s exactly where Hassan struck back.

Celine. His granddaughter by blood—something Braxton could never claim. Family meant legacy, and Celine was legacy. Braxton was a wildcard. A liability. A mouth that talked too much and a bloodline only borrowed through marriage.

Hassan had watched men crumble under pressure, but watching Carlos blink, jaw tight, cornered in a seat he usually owned—that was something else.

“What do you want?” Carlos asked finally, his words stiff, forced. Hassan didn’t flinch.

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