"Chaos, Mrs. Virella, often contains its own patterns," Nolan stated, pushing back. He had to be careful. He was on the edge of directly admitting too much. "And discerning those patterns is the very essence of market analysis. My work at Timo Fintech, and indeed, my personal passion, lies in understanding these complex systems. To predict, not to create. To react, not to initiate." He emphasized "predict" and "react," trying to distance himself from "initiate.""And you have certainly shown a remarkable talent for prediction," she purred, her voice was like silk. "Your personal ventures, for example, have seen quite the... impressive growth, I've heard. Even before the general market recognized their potential. A true visionary's foresight, perhaps. Or something more... active?"She cut too deep. Nolan's heart hammered against his ribs. She knew about his shadow investments. She knew about the silent tripling of his assets, engineered by the Ghost Network. He had been so careful, so

"Gone?" Nolan's voice was low, controlled, but inside, a storm was brewing. "What do you mean gone? Where's the tracking? The delivery logs?""That's the thing," Alex rushed on, his voice cracking. "The delivery logs are perfect. They show the van entered the warehouse. The timestamp, the vehicle ID, the driver's signature – everything is there. It went in.""And it never came out?" Nolan finished, his mind was racing."Never," Alex confirmed, with a desperate edge to his voice. "We've checked every exit, every camera feed. It just… vanished inside the building. Like a ghost."The irony wasn't lost on Nolan. His own ghost network, built on invisibility, was being targeted by something equally ethereal."Surveillance footage?" Nolan pressed, already anticipating the answer."Clean," Alex confirmed, a sob catching in his throat. "Too clean. It's like someone scrubbed it, Nolan. Professionally. No glitches, no pixelation, just… nothing. It’s like the van simply ceased to exist after it e

Finally, with a deep breath, Nolan carefully lifted the box. It was surprisingly light, almost empty. He brought it inside, placing it gently on a clean, white cloth on his desk. He used a tiny, specialized pry tool to unseal the edges. The lid lifted with a soft click, revealing its contents. There was only one thing inside: a single, small, black data chip. It looked like a standard memory chip, but Nolan knew better than to trust appearances. This was clearly encrypted, likely with a level of security that would stump anyone else. But not him.He picked up the chip, feeling its cool, smooth surface against his gloved fingers. His mind raced. "If they wanted me dead," he thought, "I’d already be dead." This wasn't about killing him. This was about something else. A message. A warning. A declaration. But from whom? Elias Thorne? The Phantom Syndicate? Or someone else entirely? The questions swirled in his mind, each one leading to another dead end. Yet, there was a strange s

He murmured, his deep voice was barely above a whisper.“Precisely,” Nolan said, nodding slowly. “This isn’t just spying. This is a declaration. They want me to know I’m vulnerable… that they can reach me—anywhere, anytime. And this isn’t a normal hitman style, not entirely. Too… personal. Too taunting. Too haunting.”Just as the word “haunting” left Nolan’s lips, the lights in the room—and the entire mansion—flickered, then plunged them into pitch-black silence.In one fluid motion, Anya’s hand flew to the pistol holstered at her side, her stance shifting into combat readiness. Her eyes scanned every shadow, every flicker of movement in the darkness. Boris stepped forward, placing his massive frame between the door and the rest of the room. His breathing slowed, his muscles coiled like a spring. Mr. Jethro didn’t move from his seat, but his shoulders straightened, and his eyes narrowed—his body language was now more alert than ever.No one spoke. No one dared.Outside the meeting r

Right inside Nolan's secret bunker, the folder glowed on Nolan’s screen:NATIONAL FUND — PRIORITY ACCESSIt looked harmless. Just another file. But to Nolan, it was like a burning ember—bright, hot, impossible to ignore.He didn’t touch it.Not yet.His fingers, were usually fast and sure as they typed across his keyboard, now hovered in mid-air. Frozen. Hesitant.His gut—the place where his instincts usually spoke loud and clear—was quiet. Worse than quiet. It was tied in a tight, painful knot.He sat in his command room, the place he had built with his own hands. A dark, humming space filled with glowing screens and the quiet buzz of machines. Wires twisted across the floor like living things, connecting everything together. This was the heart of the Ghost Network—a secret system Nolan had built alone, line by line, byte by byte. It was his weapon, his creation, his answer to the powerful digital regime that ruled their world. Specifically the Blockchain market.Now, the regime w