About half an hour later, Benjamin’s phone rang again. He answered calmly. “Master,” Cipherella’s voice came through, confident and satisfied. “It’s done.” Benjamin leaned back slightly. “Report.” “I’ve cut all relevant feeds,” she said smoothly. “Every branch the police might trace—traffic systems, private cameras, auxiliary backups—gone or rewritten.” She continued, precise and proud of her work. “If investigators try to reconstruct Jacob’s route, they won’t get anywhere. I duplicated the vehicle’s digital signature and rerouted it through a false path, a clean, believable drive that leads nowhere meaningful.” Benjamin’s eyes narrowed slightly in approval. “It looks like the car simply went off toward a normal district,” Cipherella added. “No dead ends. No suspicious gaps. No overlap with the real location. Time stamps are aligned, traffic density matches, and the route blends naturally with routine night movement.” She paused briefly. “Even if they suspect manipu

Soon enough, Cordelia slowed the car and pulled into the parking lot of the place she had in mind.She parked, turned off the engine, and they both got down.Benjamin stretched his shoulders slightly as he stepped out, then waited for her, instinctively falling into step beside her. Cordelia locked the car and glanced up at him.“Here,” she said quietly. “This place.”Benjamin nodded. “Looks good.”The restaurant sat back from the road, broad and solid, the kind of place that didn’t need flashing signs to announce itself. Its frontage was wide, with a low overhang stretching across the entrance and soft yellow lights tucked beneath it. Cars moved in and out steadily. You could tell it was popular.As they walked in, the space opened up immediately.It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet either. Plates clinked, cutlery scraped lightly, and voices overlapped in relaxed conversation. The smell of food hit first—grilled meat, spices, something creamy simmering somewhere deeper inside.Inside

The woman turned dramatically and pointed. “Those two,” she said. “They bullied me and broke the wines I was bringing. They were rude to me.”The young man’s expression hardened slightly as he followed her gaze.The young man’s face darkened as he stepped closer, his voice rising.“Do you even know the prices of those wines?” he shouted. “Do you know what you just broke? That’s not something you casually replace.”Benjamin raised a hand slightly, calm. “Hey. It was an accident. They bumped into each other.”He glanced at the broken bottles, then back at the man. “You know what—forget the argument. I’ll pay for the wines. As a matter of fact, I’ll pay double for them. Are we good?”The man laughed sharply, full of contempt.“Fuck off,” he snapped. “Did I tell you I need money? You think you’re richer than me?”Before Benjamin could say another word, the man shoved him in the chest.Cordelia instinctively reached for Benjamin, eyes wide. Benjamin steadied himself easily, his expression

The older man stopped in front of him, his sharp eyes briefly scanning his son’s face, then the surrounding area—the scattered crowd, the broken glass still visible deeper inside, the uneasy staff.“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy with authority.The son gestured back toward the dining area. “I’ll show you,” he said quickly. “Some people are causing trouble.”The young man walked alongside his father, his voice rising as he spoke, anger mixed with exaggeration.“Dad, that guy over there,” he said, pointing toward Benjamin, “he came in here causing trouble. He insulted my fiancée, broke expensive wine bottles, and then started acting like he owns the place.”He shook his head, scoffing. “He even hit me—for no reason. And when I tried to handle it calmly, he started bragging, saying he wanted to buy the entire hotel. Like it’s some kind of joke.”He added quickly, layering the story with more heat, “He’s been rude to the staff too, and he’s refusing to apologiz

Leon’s jaw tightened, but he had no reply. Inside the car, Edmund’s voice dropped, slower now, heavier. “While I was on my way here after your call,” he said, “I received a call.” Leon frowned. “A call from who?” Edmund exhaled quietly. “From a billionaire,” he said. “From his mother.” Leon scoffed instinctively. “Dad, you’re also a billionaire. Why would another billionaire—” Edmund turned sharply to him. “There are billionaires,” he said calmly, “and there are billionaires.” Leon went silent. “I am not on that level,” Edmund continued. “And you know it.” He paused, then said the name slowly: “Evelyn Hayes.” Leon’s throat tightened. “That woman,” Edmund went on, “is considered a goddess of wealth and power. People whisper her name in boardrooms. Some say she operates on the same level as the Saudi royal families or the Rothschild.” Leon gulped. “She’s so wealthy,” Edmund said quietly, “that if she decided to buy a country—and was serious about it—she could. Some nation