Mr.Stamp

Previously

…With that, she was gone, leaving me alone in the sterile silence of my new life. I stood by the window, looking out at the unfamiliar cityscape, the setting sun casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist like the secrets I carried. Mr. Stamp was dead. Long live Arthur Finch. But as I stared at my reflection in the darkening glass, I saw not the earnest face of a young lawyer, but the weary, knowing eyes of a man who had just stepped onto a very thin tightrope, with a whole lot of angry people waiting below. The hunt was over, but the real game had just begun. And this time, I was the prize.