The King - Prologue

“This is madness!” The little man puffed up his chest to a point where the buttons of his suit threatened to tear loose. His desperation was badly hidden, and had already started to spread to the other men. “Mr. Rosen had already gone insane when he wrote it. If we follow through with this,” he tossed the bundle of papers onto the floor, an act that startled the others, ”we're all going to end up in jail!”

The others gawked at the man while he spoke, and talked quietly amongst each other. There were at least a dozen of them, all dressed up in expensive suits, most of them carrying a briefcase. Fear and greed were at war in their eyes, but no one seemed to be considering the ethical aspect. They were used to making decisions that were morally gray, or in this case, black. Their voices got louder as their fear threatened to overtake them.

A tall man, sitting in a leather chair behind a big mahogany desk, cleared his throat and leaned forward, looking at the others one by one, silencing them with his glare. It was clear to everyone that he was the one in charge. “So do we present the world with the first testament, which gives Mr. Rosen's whole fortune to his youngest son?” He stood up, walked around the desk and picked up the papers from the floor. “Or do we split half of the fortune amongst ourselves, and give the other half to the winner, as Mr. Rosen instructed in his second testament?”

“You're insane, Blake! We can't get away with something like that.” Even in the dim light of late Mr. Rosen's office they could see Blake twitch when the stout man called him by his given name.

“Oh, but we will, Mr. Welch, we will. Mr. Rosen wrote a third, false, testament for that purpose, stating that his whole fortune was to be given to his own charity fund. You, Mr. Johnson,” he turned towards a handsome young man with cold emotionless eyes, “are going to perform some magic with the numbers, as you have before, and no one will know a thing.”

A fourth, middle-aged and overweight man with a comb-over stepped forward, his head low like a cowering dog. The tension in the room had the same effect on many of them. “I don't understand why we can't keep all the money ourselves? We could just simply pretend to give it away but not hold the competition. It's not like Mr. Ro...” He was silenced by Blake's furious glare.

“Do you really want to deny Mr. Rosen his last wish?” There was a threat in his tone, and Blake made no effort to hide it.

“I can't go through with this. What you're planning is murder, and I'm not going to take part in this. God have mercy on your souls.” With that Mr. Welch turned to leave. He didn't even reach the door before a figure slipped out from a shadowy corner and shot him in the back. The silencer did not just muffle the noise of the gun but somehow seemed to absorb all the other sounds of the castle. A deadly silence settled in the office. The remaining men watched their former associate with wide eyes. If they had not realized the seriousness of the situation earlier, the death of Mr. Welch ensured that they did.

Blake was the first to speak, seemingly unaffected by the growing bloodstain on the Persian carpet. “I suggest letting my friend here take the part of the extra contestant.” There were no more objections that night.

While they finished their business, the shooter wrapped Mr. Welch's body in the carpet, and dragged it outside, leaving a sanguine trail through the castle.