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begin...,"he raised one finger, turning towards the ashtray beside him. He retrieved the half smoked Churchill cigar like it was his lover's neck, and lit it. He inhaled and blew out smoke rings as if this conversation could wait until he was damn ready for it. He has always made sure to find any moment to enjoy his slow, refined experiences. I tapped my feet on the floor, waiting for my father to be done with his fucking cigar. I didn't want to play his games, but I needed to know why this marriage is important. Why she had been chosen. Marcus finally spoke. "The Monroes owe us a debt, son," He said it like a book had gone missing in the library, and not a forced marriage. I stopped tapping my foot, narrowing my eyes. "What debt?" He took another drag from his cigar and looked into space like he was remembering something important. "Rick betrayed this family over two decades ago." I blinked. "And what exactly does that have to do with me? With this marriage?" Marcus paused, giving me a long look before another drag. That thing will kill you one day. He stood slowly, and his expression didn't change as he crossed the room to a glass cabinet, pulling out a folder. It looked like something you would find in an evidence room in a crime thriller. He walked back to his desk, tossing it at me. "What's this?," I asked, holding it up. "Quit asking me questions boy. Open it, goddamn it," Marcus said with the tone I've grown from fearing years ago to dismissing. I looked down at it. The folder was old, but clean. It was stamped with the Graves estate's name, and my stomach dropped when I read the title: Death Report: Matteo Graves. The name slammed a punch to my ribs. That name is a family. Uncle Matteo. Marcus's eyes were already on me when I looked up at him, reading me like a book he'd written himself. I slowly flipped the folder with chill and unnerving beneath my fingers. The title had hit me, but the pages hit harder. Date of death: June 24, 2003. Cause of death: Blunt force trauma. Time of death: 11:35 PM. My pulse quickened as my heart ticked louder. Injuries sustained during alleged robbery–no suspects charged or victims identified. "Robbery"? Uncle Matteo had been a Grave. We were never short on wealth. What the fuck would he be doing caught in a situation like this? My eyes caught another note on the next page, only this time, it was handwritten in black ink. Confidential, and what looked like family eyes only. Rick Monroe's name. A failed scare gone wild and fatal. The betrayal to the Graves family from the Monroes. And the cover up. I looked up to Marcus with brows so furrowed I could feel them hurt. "You knew," I said in a whisper. Marcus put out his cigar in the ashtray. As if