As Ethan finally got closer. His attention was now fully on the stage.Gideon Harrick had begun his main speech, and the campaign crowd slowly shifted focus back to him. The stage lights shone on his clean suit and practiced smile. His voice was confident, smooth, and powerful enough to make even difficult promises sound simple.“My fellow citizens,” Gideon said, spreading one hand toward the crowd, “Verdanis has suffered. We have lost homes, businesses, jobs, and families. But suffering alone does not rebuild a nation. Discipline does. Numbers do. Order does.”The crowd clapped loudly.The applause rolled across the square like a wave.Some supporters raised flags above their heads while others shouted Gideon's name repeatedly.A group of young campaign volunteers began chanting, “Harrick! Harrick! Harrick!”Even people standing near Ethan seemed energized by the speech.For a moment, it felt less like a campaign rally and more like the celebration of a man who had already won.Gideo

Gideon Harrick smiled for cameras at the rally, but three hour later, that smile became colder behind closed doors.The private conference room inside Harrington Financial Group headquarters while was miles far away from the campaign ground smelled of leather, coffee, and expensive cigars. Tall glass walls overlooked the capital, where campaign posters still carried Gideon’s face across digital billboards. Around the long black table sat investors, bankers, corporate lawyers, and campaign advisers. These were not ordinary supporters. These were the people who paid for campaigns and expected policies in return.The atmosphere inside the room was completely different now. There were no campaign songs, no cheering supporters, and no patriotic slogans. Here, every smile had a price, and every handshake represented an investment waiting for a return. Politics was merely another business meeting for the people gathered around the table.One heavyset investor laughed as a screen replayed th

Three days after Gideon Harrick called poor citizens economic burdens, Ethan Xavier discovered that the stolen relief money carried Gideon's own fingerprints.The emergency audit room inside Xavier Group headquarters was cold, quiet, and filled with screens. Financial records covered the central table. Donation files, bank confirmations, foundation reports, and procurement approvals had been arranged in clean rows, but nothing about them felt clean anymore.Ethan stood at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the report Mira had placed before him. Rachel Byrne stood beside the main screen, while Marcos Hale worked through a transaction map on his tablet. Three senior officers from Xavier Group’s philanthropy division sat opposite Ethan, and none of them looked comfortable.Mira spoke first, her voice was controlled but heavy. “Master Ethan, we completed the first internal review. Sixty percent of the funds routed through the Verdanis War Recovery Trust came from Xavier Group humani

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Then what is the key?”The caller breathed shakily. “The accountant.”Rachel’s fingers froze above the keyboard.Ethan’s voice dropped. “What is his name.”“I cannot say it on this line,” the caller said. “But if you really want to catch Gideon Harrick, stop chasing the money and start chasing his accountant.”Ethan did not answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the speaker as the distorted breathing continued on the other end of the line. Something about the caller did not sound rehearsed. The fear was real, and people rarely risked their lives without a reason.His voice stayed calm. “Why?” he asked. “Why help us? If you know this much, why come to me?”The room fell silent again. Even Marcos stopped trying to trace the signal, waiting for the answer. Mira folded her arms tightly, while Rachel unconsciously held her breath.The caller let out a slow, trembling sigh. “Because some debts cannot be repaid with money,” the voice said quietly. “Some can on

The three relief trucks parked inside Camp Westbrook while hundreds of desperate people stood waiting in lines that were too long for the supplies in front of them.Camp workers blew whistles and shouted instructions. Mothers held their children close. Crippled veterans leaned on broken crutches. Elderly men and women struggled to remain upright as the crowd pushed forward. Ethan stood among them in his faded shirt and volunteer tag, watching the supplies being unloaded from the trucks he had personally paid for.A camp officer shouted, “Straight lines! No pushing! Anyone who causes trouble will be removed from distribution.”The warning worked immediately. People became quieter, not because they were calm, but because they were afraid. Nobody wanted to lose their chance at food, medicine, or blankets. Ethan saw a woman grip her child’s hand tightly and whisper, “Stay close. Do not talk. Just collect what they give us.”Ethan tried to move toward the trucks, but the crowd was too thic