Page 151 of The Rules

He’d own whatever he touched.

And there was Kath to consider. She was desperate for justice—desperate enough that she’d already started breaking rules. If Ben brought Julian in…

He ground his molars. Julian would see her in a heartbeat. See the fire. The vulnerability. The cracks. And he’d know exactly how to use them.

But Crawford was always three steps ahead. Every witness vanished. Every document got sealed. Every fucking move they made met a wall before it ever reached court.

Someone was protecting him—someone with reach. Someone powerful. Someone Ben couldn’t outmaneuver on his own.

They were running out of options.

He thought of Niel Winters, rotting in a cell for a crime that had Crawford’s signature all over it.

He thought of Kath—how far she'd already gone, how much she was still willing to lose.

And he thought of himself. Of the lines he’d already crossed.

Maybe this was inevitable.

Maybe it had always been leading here.

Ben’s fingers hovered over the screen. Just a breath. Just a heartbeat.

He told himself he could control it.

That he could draw the line and make Julian toe it. That he’d only use him as far as necessary. That he was still the older brother. Still the one in charge.

A lie, maybe.

But it was the only one he had left.

He exhaled. Low. Sharp.

And dialed.

Ring.

Julian picked up instantly.

"Well, well. Benjamin fucking Sinclair."

Ben's fingers tensed around the phone.

That voice—smooth, amused, already taunting—slid down his spine like icewater. Familiar in all the worst ways. It hadn’t been long, just a few months maybe, but hearing it now? It still had the power to make every muscle in his body coil tight.

"I was starting to think your phone only dialed upward—judges, politicians, moral high ground. But never me."

Ben could hear the smirk in his brother's voice. Could picture him perfectly—probably lounging in some obscenely expensive chair, legs crossed, one hand holding a glass of something that cost more than most people made in a month.

"Tell me—did the system finally fuck you, or did some ghost from beneath that halo come back to bite?"

Ben remained silent. He wouldn't give Julian the satisfaction of a reaction. His brother had always known exactly which buttons to push, which nerves to strike. It was what made him so effective—and so dangerous.

"You only ever call me when the walls are caving in," Julian continued, his voice softening, becoming more precise, honing in on the exact spot where Ben's armor was weakest. "I mean, I get it.When you want rules followed, you call Dad. When you want praise, you call Mom." A beat. "But when you wantsomething dirty—impossible—untraceable?"

"Then you call me."

Ben stared out at the city skyline, the truth of Julian's words settling into his bones like an unwelcome weight.