First message
The rain over the Hudson did little to wash away the stain. Rhys wiped his hands on a pristine white handkerchief, the scent of antiseptic cutting through the metallic tang in the air. The man at his feet wasn't moving, a consequence of disagreeing with Rhys’s terms. Rhys didn't look down at the body. He looked up at the associate who stood shivering under the warehouse awning. "Clean this up," Rhys said, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion.