The explosion tore through the Zurich industrial district just before dawn. Flames climbed into the sky, devouring steel and smoke. By the time emergency crews reached the scene, the wreckage of a black SUV burned at the heart of the chaos.Authorities confirmed what Harrison wanted the world to believe — John Raymond was dead.News outlets ran with it instantly. Heir of The Imperial Crest Dies in Sovereign Pursuit. Images of the mangled car dominated global feeds. Commentators debated his guilt, his legacy, his failure. The world mourned him for a day. Harrison toasted him for an hour.Only Rita refused to believe it.At The Imperial Crest, the atmosphere was split between panic and fury. The tribunal’s investigation deepened. Half of the board had resigned, and the rest clung to what was left of their pride.Rita stood in John’s office — now her temporary command centre. The blinds were drawn, the air heavy with fatigue. Screens around her flickered with news of the explosion. Dalto

The Zurich skyline was still bleeding smoke when dawn broke. The Sovereign Tower, once a symbol of untouchable wealth and power, now stood in ruin — a blackened skeleton against the rising sun. Fire trucks lined the streets, sirens muted beneath the soft hum of exhaustion. The air smelled of ash and iron, of endings and beginnings.Rita pushed past the barricades, ignoring the shouts of officers and the sting of soot in her lungs. She had been there all night, refusing to leave. Her face was streaked with sweat and smoke, her eyes hollow from the weight of fear and determination.“Ma’am, it’s not safe in there,” one of the fire chiefs said, stepping in her path.“Then pull me out when I find him,” she snapped.Before he could respond, she moved past him, helmet on, flashlight cutting through the haze. The stairwell was half collapsed, the walls blistered with heat. Every step she took echoed against metal and ruin. She called his name more than once, her voice breaking each time.“John

The newsroom lights burned through the night, and every headline told the same lie — The Imperial Crest under investigation. John’s name was plastered across every network screen, his picture framed between suspicion and scandal.Rita stood before the main screen in her office, arms folded tightly, jaw set. The storm had moved faster than expected. Overnight, their stock had dropped by eight percent; investors demanded explanations, and the board’s confidence wavered like a flame in the wind.Dalton knocked once before stepping in. “It’s worse than we thought. Half the suppliers have paused contracts until the probe clears.”“There is no probe,” Rita said, voice sharp.“They don’t care,” he replied. “Perception is reality.”She closed her eyes briefly. “Where’s John?”“In the boardroom,” Dalton said. “Trying to stop a mutiny.”Rita grabbed her tablet and followed him out.Inside the boardroom, the air was heavy with tension. Twelve men and women sat around the long oak table, their vo

The night sky over the city was a sheet of black glass, reflecting lights from towers that never slept. Inside The Imperial Crest, silence had replaced the usual hum of activity. It was the calm before something broke.John sat behind his desk, the anonymous email still glowing on his monitor. The image of Ms. Patel with Michael Adison had looped through his mind all night. If it were real, it meant treason. If it was planted, it meant manipulation. Either way, someone was tightening a noose around his neck.He leaned back, exhaustion lining his face. He had learned long ago that empires didn’t collapse because of enemies — they collapsed because of friends.Rita knocked softly and entered without waiting for permission. Her presence, even in silence, grounded him.“You’re still here,” she said.He gave a faint smile. “Apparently, insomnia is part of the job description.”She walked closer, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes. “You look like you’ve been fighting ghosts.”He gla

The morning after the explosion, the Imperial Crest stood like a wounded titan. Smoke still curled from the upper floors, and police lights painted the streets below in red and blue. News helicopters circled overhead, capturing the chaos.Inside the tower, the boardroom was sealed under government order. Investigators moved through the corridors, scanning every room, every console, every trace of last night’s events.John watched from the top floor, hands buried in his pockets. His reflection in the glass looked older — harder. The company had survived the attack, but something inside him had not.Behind him, the door opened quietly. Rita entered, her steps hesitant. Her face was pale, sleepless, haunted.“They’re saying Dalton triggered the explosion,” she said softly.John didn’t turn. “They’re wrong.”She hesitated. “But the logs…”“The logs were rewritten,” he said sharply. “The Benefactor wanted a scapegoat. Now he has one.”Rita lowered her eyes. “I shot him.”John finally turne