They met in the boathouse before dawn, the place smelling of tar and coffee, the map of Greyharbor spread across the table like a battlefield. Paper clung to the boards where Sarah had pinned screenshots, timestamps, and phone logs. Cole poured black coffee into three mugs and pushed one toward Adrian without fuss.“We got enough from the bait to start making smart moves,” Sarah said, voice low and precise. Her screen showed the day’s harvest of data: device pings, timestamps of attempted access, and a chart of transferred funds flagged by the temporary anomalies they’d introduced. “It’s thin in some places, but it’s actionable.”Adrian traced a finger along the map, eyes tired but focused. “Harlan’s people are predictable. They escalate when they think they’ve found leverage. Our job is to make them expose themselves without giving them a reason to hurt the town or its people.” He looked up. “We move in three phases: containment, exposure, and legal pressure. Containment keeps Greyha

Morning sunlight cut through the tinted glass of Harlan’s office like a blade. Johannesburg’s skyline glittered beneath him—steel and glass, the empire he’d built from charm, calculation, and just enough ruthlessness to keep the world in line. But today, the shine looked colder.Harlan Locke stood before the vast window, silent, one hand resting on the back of a leather chair. Behind him, his lieutenants shifted uncomfortably, papers and screens laid out like evidence before a judge.“Tell me again,” Harlan said finally. His voice was quiet but heavy, a weight that settled into the bones. “How did a courier walk off with half our internal records?”No one spoke.At last, a woman with sharp eyes and a tighter bun—Claudia Reese, head of security—cleared her throat. “He didn’t walk, sir. He vanished. The last ping we had was outside Port Adare. After that, silence. We assumed he was compromised.”“Assumed.” Harlan turned then, his eyes like ice. “I don’t pay you to assume, Claudia. I pay

Greyharbor always felt safest at dawn — that brief hush before the town fully woke, when the gulls circled lazy above the bay and the world seemed half-asleep. But lately, Sarah found no comfort in the quiet.She could *feel* eyes on her.At first, it was subtle — a car parked too long at the end of her street, unfamiliar footsteps behind her after late-night work at the office, a flicker of movement in her rearview mirror. She told herself it was paranoia, the side effect of too many sleepless nights staring into stolen data. But deep down, she knew better.The developers had found her.That morning, she walked to the docks, coat pulled tight against the cold. Fishermen called greetings, their laughter easy and untroubled, but Sarah barely heard them. Her mind replayed the signs: the black SUV that passed her house twice, the flicker of a camera lens when she left the café yesterday, the sound of someone breathing too close in the alley behind her office.When she reached her door, s

The boardroom of Harlan Locke & Associates was designed to intimidate — high ceilings, black marble floors, and a panoramic view of the Johannesburg skyline. But this morning, its power was gone. The usual hum of quiet confidence had been replaced by the sound of raised voices and the restless shuffle of papers.Screens on the far wall glowed with financial updates — red lines where there should have been green. Numbers that once obeyed were beginning to fall.“Two investors have pulled out completely,” Gareth Mbeki said, his voice thin with strain. “A third is requesting a full audit of our foreign subsidiaries. They’re citing ‘environmental ethics compliance.’ That’s language we’ve never had to deal with before.”Across the table, Claudia Reese watched him with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t a coincidence. Someone’s orchestrating it.”Harlan sat at the head of the table, silent. The only movement was the slow tapping of his pen against the surface — steady, deliberate, dangerous.“Of co

The storm outside Greyharbor mirrored the one building inside Adrian’s small study. Waves slammed against the breakwater while rain hissed against the windows, drowning the sound of typing fingers and tense breaths.Cole hunched over his laptop, code reflecting in his glasses. “Okay, cross-referencing the shell corporations from Evelyn’s files with the ones in Adrian’s old ledgers… there. Aurelia Holdings, Greenstone Maritime, and Deltor Investments—all linked by the same offshore address in Malta.”Sarah leaned closer. “That’s the same account that paid for the coastal acquisition permits. They were using dirty environmental funds to buy our harbor.”Adrian’s jaw tightened. “So Harlan wasn’t just buying land. He was laundering violations.”Cole nodded. “Exactly. Dumping waste off Mozambique, filing it under ‘marine research,’ then funneling the cleanup grants into his expansion budget.”Adrian exhaled slowly. “That’s our weapon. If this goes public, he’s finished.”Evelyn’s voice cam