CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE:The drive to the gallery was long and quiet.Rain drizzled over the windshield, blurring the world into streaks of silver. Billy sat beside Owen, eyes fixed on the folder resting on his lap — the one Monsieur had left behind, containing nothing but an address and a strange sketch that looked like half a cipher, half a riddle.Owen kept glancing at him between turns. “You sure about this, kid? If that man’s playing a game, we’re walking straight into the middle of his board.”Billy’s tone was steady. “I need to see what my father left behind, Owen. Whether it’s a trap or not, this—” he tapped the folder “—is the only lead we’ve got.”Owen exhaled, jaw tight. “Then we stay sharp. No trusting smiles, no handshakes. If Monsieur so much as breathes wrong, we’re out.”By the time they reached the address, dusk had settled.The gallery wasn’t what Billy expected. It wasn’t a grand museum or an art house — it was a forgotten three-story structure tucked between warehouses

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN:The night pressed in thick around Billy as the storm roared over the Loushen’s steel deck. The sea beneath thrashed in relentless fury, hurling waves high enough to claw at the vessel’s bruised hull. Each crash of thunder echoed through the metal corridors like a warning.But Billy wasn’t listening to the sea anymore. He was focused on the flickering holographic interface before him — the puzzle his father had left behind. It was a labyrinth of shifting symbols, light fractals that rearranged themselves every few seconds as though mocking his efforts to decipher them.He wiped the rain from his face with a trembling hand. His pulse hammered against his ribs. “Come on,” he whispered. “What are you hiding, Dad?”A shadow moved behind him.Monsieur’s voice sliced through the darkness — calm, almost soothing. “You’ve always been impatient, Billy. That’s what makes you dangerous... and useful.”Billy didn’t turn. He’d long stopped trusting the man’s tone — the fabrica

Chapter THIRTY NINE:Billy sat in the dim glow of his office, the city lights of Parsippany-Troy Hills flickering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His fingers tapped against the polished mahogany desk, a rhythm that mirrored the tension coiling in his chest. Since recovering the Luoshen, every move he made had been calculated. Every breath measured. Yet, the feeling of unease refused to leave him. Monsieur’s shadow loomed large, even from the confines of a prison cell, and the memory of Noah’s betrayal lingered like a bitter aftertaste.The Luoshen rested on the velvet cloth before him, its intricate brushstrokes almost mocking in their serenity. To the untrained eye, it was just a rare painting. But Billy knew its secret: it was a map, a guide left by his grandfather, Alexander Anderson, to treasures that could rival nations. Gold artifacts, priceless relics, treasures of a civilization long buried in history, all meticulously hidden. And now, Monsieur’s obsessive greed and jeal

Chapter FORTY-ONE:The sirens and flashing lights of Owen’s team had thrown Monsieur momentarily off balance, but he recovered with unnerving speed. His dark eyes narrowed, scanning the alley with precision. Billy could feel the intensity of Monsieur’s gaze piercing through him, as if he could read every thought, every strategy. Yet, Billy remained calm — a stark contrast to the chaos around them.Tyla gripped the side of the crate tightly, her knuckles white. She felt the tension radiating from Billy like a living force. It was mesmerizing, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. He had changed — from the man she once underestimated to someone who commanded fear and respect without uttering a single word.Monsieur’s smirk returned, a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ve grown bold, little heir. Bold, but reckless.”Billy’s voice was steady, measured. “I’ve survived more than you can imagine. I don’t need boldness. I need justice.”A sudden shift in Monsieur’s stance revealed the tr

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:Billy’s hands trembled slightly as he stared at the Luoshen, the painting lying before him like a silent sentinel guarding secrets decades old. The faint scent of oil and varnish still clung to its surface, an invisible reminder that this artifact had survived centuries of greed, war, and betrayal. He could almost hear his father’s voice whispering from beyond the grave, instructing him on the meaning behind each carefully placed stroke of the brush, each hidden symbol.Monsieur’s plan had been audacious, almost flawless. He had managed to manipulate Billy into revealing the Luoshen’s secret, and though the mastermind hadn’t yet succeeded in fleeing the country with it, he had achieved the most crucial part of his scheme—gaining knowledge of where the hidden treasures lay. Billy’s chest tightened with a mixture of fear and fury. The thought of Monsieur finally holding the power of the Luoshen in his hands, even if only in his mind, was unbearable.Owen had made hi