Psychological Thriller

I had just retired when my daughter-in-law called. «I’m going to leave my three kids with you,» she said. «After all, you don’t do anything anymore, so you can watch them while I travel.» I smiled and ended the call. I decided to teach her a lesson she would never forget. When she returned from…

PART 1 The first rule of the high lonely is that you are, in fact, never lonely. You’re just being watched. I’m Alex, and my “house” is a 400-square-foot timber cabin bolted to a ridge in the Montana backcountry. My nearest neighbor is 40 miles down a dirt road that’s impassable six months of the…

Part 1The world knows me as Ethan Ward. Thirty-three years old. The “miracle of modern capitalism,” as one magazine called me. The man who turned a line of code into an empire that owned half the Boston skyline. From my penthouse on Beacon Hill, I could see it all. The Charles River, a dark ribbon….

Chapter 1: The Whisper in the Storm The rain in Schuylkill County didn’t wash things clean; it just made the coal dust stick to the siding of the houses a little harder. It was a Tuesday night in late October, the kind of night that felt like winter was already waiting around the corner with…

Part 1 At first, it looked like just another Tuesday morning at Grand Central. The air smelled like old copper, diesel fumes, and the sweet, artificial cinnamon from the bun shop on the lower level. It was a dull roar, the sound of a thousand people all going somewhere else, a river of footsteps and…

Part 1He shoved my graduation cake off the table. Frosting splattered across the patio; candles rolled under people’s feet. Then, my ten-year-old nephew grinned and said, “Eat it off the ground, Aunt Daisy.” The whole table laughed. My mother laughed the loudest. I stood there, knife still in my hand, wondering how love could sound…

Chapter 1: The Crumbs of Survival The radiator in Room 1B rattled with a rhythmic, metallic cough, fighting a losing battle against the November chill that had settled over Oakhaven, Ohio. Outside, the sky was the color of a bruised plum, promising snow before the final bell rang. Inside, the air smelled of wet wool,…

Part 1The rain wasn’t just falling; it was attacking the city. An October deluge that turned the streets of Chicago into slick, black mirrors reflecting a neon-blurred misery. I sat in the armored silence of my S-Class, parked across from the Lyric Opera. I wasn’t here for the music. I was waiting for a man…

Part 1   The cream card finds me on a Wednesday afternoon, heavy stock, gold letters that catch the light. “An elegant evening,” it promises, and below it the address of the Metropolitan Club, the kind of room that polishes everything it contains. At the bottom, in smaller print that still manages to sound commanding:…