They feared him.
He wasn’t known for kindness.
That Tuesday afternoon, Robert had been seated at the best table in the restaurant with his business partners, Thomas Reed and Mark Sullivan, negotiating a $50 million contract. On his left wrist gleamed the watch he always wore—a solid gold Patek Philippe, dark blue dial, custom engravings that caught the light even in the restaurant’s soft glow.
A watch worth more than most houses.
A watch that was supposed to be one of a kind.
Or rather—one of three.
Robert knew that with absolute certainty, because he had commissioned all three watches himself twenty-two years earlier, during a chapter of his life he tried desperately not to remember.
One watch was on his wrist.
The second sat untouched in a velvet case inside a safe at his Upper East Side mansion.
And the third…
The third had vanished along with his son Michael.
Twenty-two years ago.
After a brutal argument.
After words Robert regretted every single day—but had never admitted out loud.
“What did you just say?” Robert finally managed, his voice hoarse and trembling.