The Art of the Quiet Kill
The morning of the execution was bright, cold, and offensively cheerful. The sun slanted through the high windows of the Didsbury house, illuminating dust motes that didn’t exist because Ben had already vacuumed at 5:00 AM.
Riley sat at the kitchen island, wearing the ‘uniform’—charcoal trousers, white shirt, the black cardigan. On his wrist, the stolen Rolex Oyster Perpetual felt like a shackle of gold and steel. It was heavy, ostentatious, and entirely