The door to Major Case Squad shut with a heavy click. Inside, the room was spare and cold—gray walls, a long metal table bolted to the floor, four chairs on one side, one on the other. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead. The air smelled of paper, disinfectant, and old coffee. The Junior Officers moved first. Metal cuffs were unlocked with a sharp snick. Hamilton’s wrists were freed, red marks circling his skin like burned rings. “Hands down. Don’t try anything,” one of them said flatly. Hamilton rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers as if testing the room. His size filled the space even standing still—broad chest, thick neck, eyes restless and defiant. Four men waited for him. At the head of the table sat Mr. Khyber, posture rigid, expression carved from stone. To his right, Mr. Noue, lean and sharp-eyed, pen already in hand. Beside him, Mr. Anderson, older, calm, a man who had heard every excuse imaginable and forgot none of them. At the far end, a neat stack of fi

“Yes—yes,” Maria breathed, eyes widening as the weight of it hit her all at once. She pressed a hand to her chest, then laughed softly, disbelief and excitement tangled together. “A DNA test… Lewis, that’s—” She shook her head, smiling through the shock. “That’s real. That’s something they can’t twist.” Her voice trembled despite the smile. It wasn’t weakness—it was release. The kind that came after hours of fear held too tightly in the lungs. Lewis stood in front of her, hands loose at his sides, posture relaxed but alert, like someone who had finally stepped off a battlefield yet hadn’t fully accepted that the war had paused. Then he nodded calmly. “Exactly.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the battered Motorola. The casing was scratched, the edges worn smooth from years of use. When the screen lit up, it cast a faint blue glow against the sharp angles of his face. He checked the time, thumb hovering for a second longer than necessary. “It’s almost nine,” he said

“Where’s Abigail Chen?” he asked again.The worker stiffened.He glanced over his shoulder first, then to his colleague, then back at Lewis. His voice dropped to a careful whisper.“She was fired last month,” he said. “Right after the last time you and your mother came here.”Lewis didn’t blink. “Why?”The man swallowed. His fingers tightened around the packaged chip in his hands.“Because she defended you,” he said quietly. “That day on this production floor. She exposed what actually killed Mr. Martin Gordon. And also because she openly said that you were the rightful heir of Gordon Technologies.”Maria’s breath caught.Lewis’s jaw hardened, but his voice stayed level. “And that was enough?”The worker hesitated, then nodded.“The three executives—especially the female one—they were furious. They said Abigail supported you without ‘proper evidence.’ They accused her of leaking internal truths, of standing against corporate order.”He paused, eyes flicking toward the empty aisles.

Minutes later—the distant growl of engines rolled through the conglomerate walls, low and heavy, cutting beneath the mechanical hum. It grew louder, closer, until the sound of tires grinding against concrete echoed through the massive compound. Outside, two black Hilux trucks skidded to a stop. Doors flew open. Boots hit the ground. “Move! Move!” a voice barked. Emerson led the charge—broad-shouldered, thick-necked, his security jacket stretched tight across his frame. Four other men flanked him, all built, all moving with trained urgency. Their radios crackled as they pushed through the main entrance, eyes scanning, jaws set. “Phone assembling section,” Emerson said as they jogged. “That’s where they might be.” One of the men nodded. “Executives on edge. Must be serious.” Emerson slowed just enough to pull out his Lenovo phone. He thumbed the screen, lifted it to his ear while still walking. “Ma’am,” he said sharply, breath steady. “Confirm your exact position.” The line

The rope brushed Lewis’s wrists. —and snapped tight around empty air. He twisted sharply, dropping his weight. His shoulders rolled forward and his wrists slipped free in the same smooth motion, skin sliding against rough fiber. The guard tying him cursed, fingers clawing at nothing but dust and air. Lewis surged up from the dip and drove his elbow backward—hard, precise—into Emerson’s ribs. The strike landed exactly where breath lived. The impact echoed dull and deep. Emerson staggered, a sharp grunt tearing out of him as his chest folded inward. Lewis didn’t pause to watch it land. He pivoted on the ball of his foot, sweeping low. The nearest guard lost balance instantly, legs cut from under him, and crashed onto his back with a heavy thud that rattled the chains hanging from the pillars. Another guard rushed in, anger outweighing caution. Lewis ducked beneath the swing, spun, and struck the man’s jaw with a sharp open palm. The sound cracked through the warehouse