Collateral Damage: His Ruthless Claim

Chapter 1

Tears were a luxury Clara Hayes could not afford.

She stood in the center of her late brother’s cramped apartment, staring at a half-filled cardboard box of his belongings. The scent of Leo’s cheap aftershave and stale coffee still lingered in the air, a cruel reminder that only three days ago, he had been alive. Now, he was ashes in a cheap urn, the victim of a sudden, violent car crash that the police had casually dismissed as a hit-and-run.

Clara grabbed a stack of faded band t-shirts and shoved them into the box. Her hands moved with a mechanical, frantic energy. *Pragmatism over grief,* she told herself, sealing the box with a loud rip of packing tape. She had to clear out the apartment by the end of the week. She had to finalize the funeral costs. Above all, she had to figure out how to protect Lily, Leo’s six-year-old daughter, who was currently sleeping on Clara’s couch across town.

Everyone she loved either died or disappeared. It was a fundamental truth Clara had accepted long ago.

Before she could reach for the next stack of books, a deafening crash echoed through the small apartment. The front door splintered inward, the deadbolt snapping like a dry twig.

Clara spun around, her heart slamming against her ribs. Her instincts as a forensic auditor screamed at her to assess the threat: three men. Two were built like freight trains, wearing cheap leather jackets that barely concealed the bulges of firearms at their hips.

But it was the man in the center who made the blood freeze in her veins.

He wore a tailored charcoal suit that cost more than this entire apartment building. He stepped over the splintered wood of the doorway with a look of utter disdain, brushing a speck of dust from his lapel. His eyes were cold, sharp, and entirely devoid of empathy.

"Who the hell are you?" Clara demanded, forcing her voice to remain steady. She didn't step back. She planted her feet. "Get out of here before I call the police."

The man in the suit smiled. It was a thin, cruel expression. "Call them. Let's see who arrives first, Clara. The city's finest, or the people your brother stole from."

"My brother was a junior accountant," Clara snapped, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "He didn't steal anything. Now get out."

"A junior accountant with a very sophisticated taste for shadow banking," the man corrected, stepping further into the living room. He gestured to one of his goons, who immediately began kicking over boxes, spilling Leo’s belongings across the scuffed hardwood floor.

"Stop it!" Clara yelled, lunging forward.

The second goon caught her by the shoulder, shoving her hard against the wall. The breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp, but she glared daggers at the suited man.

"My name is Marcus Sterling," the man said, pacing slowly around the small room. He picked up a framed photograph of Leo