Princewill nodded in agreement, “If we expose them and the DIB is implicated… What then? Generals, ministers…they will not go down quietly.” “They will do everything they can to bury this,” Kahuna said, and his voice was full of the map of old fights. “They will call us names as usual. They will try to burn us down with public hearings and smear campaigns. But we have something they don’t expect: a ledger that names them. A trail of transactions… and patience, that's all we need and the power of being a ghost, they can't find us, even if they wanted to!” Princewill set the cigarette down and tapped the file like a metronome. “What about the girls? Where does Evelyn sleep tonight?” Kahuna looked at him long enough that Princewill’s question felt like a confession. “With people who believe in small mercies,” Kahuna said. “We will find Evelyn. We will find Maria. We will find Jasmine. We will find Noor and Tasha. We will begin with them, and if the DIB trembles, it will be becaus

The morning sun touched the Jackson Milton home softly, pouring light through tall windows. The house no longer felt cold and silence, it felt so differently now, but always carrying the sound of a baby. Jackson stood by the window, dressed for work at the Milton Group Holdings, but not yet ready to leave. He watched Dianna cradle Leo near the fireplace, her hair glowing like spilled honey in the light, the supposed heiress of the Guler family, now turned a full-time mother. The child had grown stronger even in a few weeks, his fists now restless, his tiny sounds fuller and even more alive. “You should rest,” Jackson murmured, approaching her quietly. Dianna looked up, smiling through fatigue. “I can’t seem to,” she said softly. “Every time I close my eyes, I want to open them again… to see him breathing, to make sure he’s still here.” Jackson knelt beside her, resting his hand gently on Leo’s blanket. “He’s strong, princess… you made him that way.” She leaned her h

Princewill's fingers moved like they were a part of the keys, not above them… tapping, slicing, coaxing. He'd been up since the small hours; the coffee beside him had gone cold twice. The screen flashed with tables and buried ledgers, each line a heartbeat, account numbers, shell names, cross-references to charity fronts. He spoke aloud the way some people mutter prayers. “Here,” he said into the dark of the room as if Kahuna were beside him, though it was only the hum of the old laptop answering. “Look at this routing. See how the transfers stop here and reappear as donations? They reused the same routing memo across three networks. Whoever designed this depends on noise.” He flipped through a string of encrypted emails. “They left a pattern. A damn pattern. Someone sloppy, or someone who thinks they’re smarter than ghosts.” The loophole was right there, an accountant who moved funds through a chain of micro-donors and micro-accounts, each under a different state ID. T

Princewill felt that old, dangerous thing rising again in his heart, hope minced with dread. It sat in his chest like a storm that couldn’t decide whether to bless or destroy. “And the bureau?” he asked quietly. Luke’s reply came steady, his tone carrying the exhaustion of a man who’d stared too long into corrupted systems. “If we play this right, they can’t bury it. We drop the evidence with the right journalists, the lawyers will have no choice but to react. The dirt will fly, and the questions will follow.” They had built a plan around DIB, the Department of Internal Oversight, not as a faceless institution, but as a fortress they could finally breach. The walls had windows now, they just needed to smash the glass. Maya leaned forward, her notebook half-filled with restless scribbles. Her voice trembled with conviction, the kind that made people listen. “How about we bring the mothers in? The ones from the neighborhoods who lost everything, what if they speak and

Meanwhile, miles away Mexico City never truly slept. It breathed…. slow, heavy and overall dangerous. Thunder rolled low in the distance, swallowing the last of the light. From the high windows of his office, Thiago Andreas watched the city burn in orange reflections, the veins of his empire alive beneath the night. But tonight, it wasn’t business that held his mind captive. It was blood… His blood. Emiliano. He had heard whispers all day through coded messages from lieutenants, intercepted calls, then finally the one that made his pulse freeze. Los Perros Negros — the Black Dogs. A cartel so savage that even whispers of their leader, Rico El Carnicero, made hardened men cross themselves. They thrived in the kind of chaos even Thiago avoided — human trade, military-grade weapons, and a ruthlessness that didn’t respect boundaries or alliances. When Thiago’s most trusted man, Javier, entered the office, the look on his face said it all. “Tell me,” Thiago said q