Ling spent her nights with paperwork, her days with suspicion. Since the audit began, she’d barely slept—her mind kept chasing threads, chasing secrets. Tonight, she sat at her kitchen table, files spread out, coffee going cold. She scanned emails, payroll logs, council expenditures. Then—there it was. A payment from Robert Chen’s offshore account, dated five years back. The recipient: Marion Blake. Ling’s pulse quickened. The amount wasn’t huge, but it was enough. She dug deeper—more payments, spread across months, always right before key city council votes. Blake’s name, always the recipient. Ling stood, pacing the small kitchen. This was it—the proof she needed to bring Blake down. But it was circumstantial. Without a smoking gun—an admission, a contract, an email—Blake would walk. She called Brent, her voice low. “I found something,” she said. “Blake took bribes from Robert. Small amounts, but consistent. The money’s real, but unless we get her to admit it, or find a docu

Sofia sat in the back of the rideshare, knuckles white on her phone. Her nerves had barely settled since her undercover day at Marion Blake’s office. She kept replaying the moment Marion caught her in the office, the sharpness in her eyes, the threat in her voice. “If I catch you in here again, you’re gone.” That voice echoed in Sofia’s head as the city lights whirred past. She got out two blocks from the Phoenix Foundation, moving fast and glancing over her shoulder. She’d taken the long way, sure she was being followed. It didn’t help that someone in a gray sedan had tailed her for three turns before peeling off. She climbed the stairs two at a time and let herself into the Foundation’s back door. Ling was waiting in the kitchen, eyes dark with worry. “Did you get anything?” Ling whispered. Sofia nodded, pulling out her phone. “I took pictures of everything I could. There’s one more thing. Marion’s shredding files. I saw her feed whole stacks into the machine. She’

Jake Smith had never liked sharing power, but prison had a way of changing a man’s priorities. Especially when the world outside still belonged to Brent Walker.He read the letter again, his fingers trembling. The lawyer’s handwriting was neat, almost cheerful, as if organizing a prison break was just another day at the office. Jake slid the note across the table to Carl Stone, who studied it in silence.“It’s time,” Carl said. “The Chens are moving. We move with them.”Jake nodded, his jaw tight. “Brent thinks he’s untouchable now. The city’s singing his name, but they haven’t seen what we can do together.”Carl’s smile was slow, wolfish. “He made one mistake.”Jake raised an eyebrow. “Which?”Carl leaned in. “He let us live.”They said nothing for a moment, listening to the distant clang of metal doors and the mutter of guards. Around them, the prison cafeteria was a cage full of hungry men, but Jake and Carl had already found their way out—at least in their minds.“This time, we

The morning shift at Walker Industries' bottling plant had just begun when the health inspectors arrived. Six of them, wearing crisp white coats and carrying metal clipboards, striding through the front entrance like they owned it. Brent was in his office at the Phoenix Foundation when James called. "They're saying it's a routine inspection," James said, his voice tight. "But they have an anonymous tip about contamination in the water supply." Brent's fingers drummed against his desk. Nothing was routine anymore. Not since Marion's arrest last week. "I'm on my way. Call Tommy and Jessica – I want them there. And get Ling to pull our latest safety reports." The factory sprawled across ten acres on the city's east side. Three hundred workers. State-of-the-art filtration systems. It was Brent's pride – proof that business could thrive while treating workers right. Now, as he pulled into the parking lot, he saw news vans gathering like vultures. Tommy met him at the entrance, hi

The Phoenix Foundation's conference room had become a war room. Maps and charts covered the walls, laptops crowded the table, and coffee cups multiplied like rabbits. Three days since Sarah's escape, and sleep was a distant memory. Brent stood at the head of the table, his tie loose, sleeves rolled up. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his voice remained steady. "Walk me through it again," he said. Jessica tapped her tablet, projecting a supply chain diagram onto the main screen. Red lines traced connections between companies, forming a web of relationships and transactions. "The contamination came from here." She highlighted a node. "Pure Stream Solutions. They provided our filtration equipment for the past eight months." Tommy leaned forward. "Seemed legitimate. Perfect paper trail, great references." "Too perfect," Brent muttered. He studied the company details. "Who owns them?" "That's where it gets interesting." Jessica swiped to another screen. "Shell companies. Lots