Princewill turned to face him directly. “Do you remember what you told me last night? You said you’d do anything to repay what I did for you back then.” Nathaniel looked down, silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I remember.” Princewill softened his tone. “I don’t want you to do this out of debt, Nate. I want you to do it because you know this world’s been ruled by men who feed on corruption. You’ve seen it. You work in the numbers, you see the lies hidden in them.” Nathaniel gave a bitter laugh. “I see them, yes. But people don’t fight the system. They just survive it.” Princewill stepped closer. “That’s what they want you to believe.” Nathaniel met his gaze, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “And what happens if I get caught?” “You won’t,” Princewill said confidently. “Kahuna’s encryption can mask your trail. Kahuna himself is already running ghost protocols. You’ll appear clean even under audit.” Nathaniel hesitated. “You keep saying ‘we.’ Who exactly is ‘

He knew he needed to destroy that before any of his clleagues finds it as he could lose his life or freedom right there. So he walked out of the room in the most natural and unsuspecting way possible. In the parking lot, the evening air hit him like a wave of freedom. He got into his car, locked the doors, and took out the flash drive. He hesitated as it looked so harmless, yet it had just crippled one of the biggest Bureau and its financial institution in the country. He placed it on the car’s dashboard, struck a match, and dropped it on top of the device. The flame caught quickly, melting the surface until it curled into black ash. His phone rang. Princewill. “Talk to me,” Princewill said. “It’s done,” Nathaniel replied, voice steady. “Phase One complete. DIB’s system is wide open.” “Excellent,” Princewill said, a smile audible in his tone. “Kahuna’s already moving on the internal data. You’ve just made history, Nate.” Nathaniel stared at the smoke rising from the fl

In offices, cafes, and homes, people whispered in shock. “Did you hear about the children?” “They said it was through charity accounts.” “All those donations… they weren’t real.” “That means most of our children's disappearance was all orchestrated by DIB? They should be banned!” Even DIB employees who had done nothing wrong felt the weight of guilt. Their faces were shown on the news, their names trending online for the wrong reasons. Late that night, a final report aired on the largest news network. The anchor’s tone was solemn: “According to early findings, DIB Financial Group laundered money for illegal trafficking networks under the guise of philanthropy. Their offshore accounts were traced to shell organizations in Monaco, Cyprus, and South Africa. The human cost remains unknown, but authorities describe it as ‘catastrophic.’” “Investigations continue as the world watches the fall of an empire that once claimed to represent integrity and progress.” The broa

Cole pressing in uttered, “Then why does your digital fingerprint match her encrypted log activity from the Cayman servers?” Nathaniel’s pulse jumped. Cayman servers. They had traced that far already. He let out a quiet, controlled breath. Nathaniel said, “Those servers were ghost-tagged months ago. I flagged them myself. Check the records.” Rina scrolling uttered, “You did file a report… but it was closed without review.” Cole uttered, “And who closed it?” Nathaniel met Cole’s gaze evenly. “Tilda Moore.” There was silence. Rina leaned back slightly. “If that’s true, you’ve just handed us a new lead.” Nathaniel forced a light shrug. “Glad to help.” Cole narrowed his eyes. “We’ll verify everything.” Nathaniel simply said, “Please do. The last thing this company needs is another false accusation.” Cole looked like he wanted to push harder, but Rina gestured subtly enough for now. She stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Brown. Don’t leave the building until we

Washington Heights The Following Morning The city had never seen Washington Heights this quiet before a broadcast. The plaza in front of the Kahuna Empire Headquarters was filled with cameras, microphones, and flashing lights. Reporters stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the man who had become the center of a nationwide storm, Princewill, the public face of the empire that brought down the DIB. Helicopters hovered above. Every major network was live. When Princewill finally stepped onto the raised marble podium, the crowd erupted. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, no jewelry, no exaggerated smile... just calm authority. Behind him, the Kahuna Empire insignia ‘KE’ gleamed like a silent guardian. He placed both hands on the podium and waited for the noise to fade. The cameras zoomed in. Every breath he took echoed through the speakers. “Good morning, Washington Heights,” he began, his voice deep, deliberate, and unhurried. The crowd hushed, eager to