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Chapter 1

Johannesburg, South Africa

Damian

Harold Dalton shoots up from behind his oversized desk so fast he almost stumbles over the wheel of his equally oversized chair “What do you want?”

The coward is afraid He should be After all, he framed me and stole my diamond mine He’s the reason I spent six innocent years in jail

His fat chin quivers He doesn’t take his eyes offmy time to inspect the rooed, except for threemiserably from the wall

“What do you want?” he repeats when I reach his desk

“Ah Whatever could I want?”

His fingers tremble as he splays theant he either forgot I got out yesterday or believed I left prison a defeatedbastard would’ve put a dozen guards in front of his door today His mistake

A liver-spotted hand glides toward the drahere he no doubt keeps a gun, but I’rip on his wrist makes him whimper I can almost smell the fear in the sweat that stains the armpits of his shirt I’h this door in a threadbare shirt I’hty-thousand-rand suit, a man with a vendetta

Six years is a long tieance until your heart is cooked in all that bitter acid Six years of cruelty and torture make beasts out of men Six years in the company of the hardest criht connections and a fortune

“What do you want, Damian Hart?”

This time, there’s acceptance in the question, the kind only people with money can muster Bribe money

Letting go of his wrist, I take two pieces of paper from my inside jacket pocket and slide them over the desk He unfolds the first, the proof of what he’s stolen, and pales as he reads The second is an affidavit the corrupt judge signed right after I’d cut off his finger

The papers flutter in his hands “Name your price Most of my money is tied up in investments, but I have property My house in Can over the deed in less than twenty-four hours”

Laughable “Ninetyto cut it I’d say one thousand four hundred and fifty-five days and a diamond mine worth billions deserve a little more, don’t you think?”