"Rowan Chandler. He also goes by aliases like Ethan Maverick, Elijah Cervantes, and Mikey Gunner."
I glanced at the dossier, thumbing through the pages filled with details that painted a picture of a man crafted by design, not circumstance.
The boy's face stared back at me—youthful yet oddly hardened. He had straight black hair and eyes that, despite their warmth, carried a depth I recognized.
Brown eyes like rich mahogany, seemingly naïve, but the photograph betrayed something more.
"He never attended college, but his IQ sits at a staggering 148," Armando began again, his tone laced with both awe and a touch of hesitation. "He's fluent in six languages—German, Mandarin, Russian, and English being his most comfortable. He's a skilled billiards player, a soccer enthusiast, and an accomplished pianist. Homeschooled for most of his life, yet he still managed to make a mark in competitions—gymnastics, swimming—he's got the gold medals to prove it. And he's traveled widely, living lavishly in Spain, Germany... even Russia."
I nodded, taking it all in. My eyes drifted toward the large window behind me, the city sprawling beyond it like a labyrinth of secrets.
Rowan Chandler.
The golden son of ChristianChandler.
Christian had always been meticulous, keeping his family in the shadows, tangled in the covert operations of the Secret Service—an undercover organization of cops that operated in tandem with the government, stopping criminals by any means necessary.
And now, his youngest son, Rowan, had entered my playing field.
"He's half-Russian, half-American," Armando continued, his voice unrelenting as he laid out Rowan's complex and impressive background. "Spent three years in the military for both countries. A combat medic, trained in aviation, and even cooked when the situation called for it. After the military, he dabbled in law, worked as a nurse, and for a time, flew planes as a pilot. His latest role? An office assistant, of all things. Quite the jack-of-all-trades, wouldn't you agree?"
Armando's words painted Rowan as a man of many faces, versatile and unpredictable.
The kind of person who could slip through the cracks and emerge on the other side unscathed. A man like that could be an invaluable asset-or a dangerous threat.
"Christian raised him well," I mused, flipping through the next set of documents.
"'Well' is an understatement sir," Armando let out a dry chuckle, "Christian molded him into the ideal son—obedient, loyal, and the best at his job. The perfect beta. With those androgynous looks of his, the boy could easily pass for either an alpha or an omega if he wanted to."
