Mateo’s penthouse was quiet, too quiet. The skyline outside stretched wide and glittering, a sea of lights like jewels scattered over black velvet. But instead of comfort, it brought him agitation. He sat before the wide glass, a tumbler of whiskey untouched on the low table, his fingers tapping impatient rhythms against the armrest.

He could still hear Henry Co’s voice. Smooth, deliberate, each word sharpened like a blade: “With you, Navarro Coffee’s empire can be unmade. We can ...