Joe Carnegie woke to silence.
But it didn’t last long. He heard the wail of sirens. A lot of them. He was lying in a pool of blood. He was weak. He couldn’t move his legs at all.
He knew it was over. He might survive his wounds, but his life was over. And if he survived, he would go to prison.
He grabbed a shard of glass from the floor. It already had his blood on it.
If he made it look like murder instead of suicide, his daughter would still get his insurance money, right? That was the only thing that mattered. He couldn’t count on the cartel to take care of his baby girl. She would have a hard enough time growing up with the knowledge of his crimes and misdeeds. At least she could be rich.
He took the shard of glass and plunged it into his neck.