Rebirth of Vengeance

CHAPTER 11 — Shadows in the Boardroom

The city lights stretched like veins below him as he adjusted the webcam on his laptop, the glow reflecting off his sharp, calculated eyes.

His apartment felt colder tonight, sterile, but he preferred it that way. No distractions. No witnesses. No emotion.

He opened the secure virtual conference link he’d acquired months ago, back when ambition and careful observation had been the only allies he trusted.

The boardroom appeared on his screen, sleek, leather chairs filled with familiar faces he once called enemies. Some unaware of how easily he could pierce their control. Some already suspecting.

He typed quickly, a few keystrokes here, a minor script there, then leaned back. The video feed remained unaltered, the audio channel clean. He wasn’t just watching, he was inside.

“You’re muted,” a voice complained on the feed.

He smiled faintly, pressing a key that let a single line of text appear in the private chat channel. Only the CFO received it. Check subledger 7B. Transaction 34. Oversight?

The CFO frowned, typing back slowly. …I’m reviewing.

He didn’t need to see more. He already knew the error, the intentional misplacement of funds. A million dollars had quietly vanished into an offshore shell account, one of the very accounts his wife had proudly presented during the IPO.

She didn’t know it had never been hers, e had seen every step in the past, remembered it all with precision. One voice dominated the feed. His wife, poised and commanding, radiating confidence.

“As I said,” she began, “our projections are solid. We’ve prepared for market fluctuations. Any questions?”

Another director cleared his throat, voice tight. “Actually, Linda, before we continue, I noticed an inconsistency in the financials. Ledger 7B… there seems to be a transaction that doesn’t align with previous reports.”

The room shifted uneasily. She blinked, her smile tightening. “I… I’ll look into it,” she said smoothly, hiding the rising panic. “Perhaps a clerical oversight.”

He watched her pulse quicken ever so slightly, lips pressing together. Fear, not for her, but for control. A small victory.

He nudged another key. A pop-up appeared on one of the board member’s screens: a discrepancy highlighted in real-time.

Not obvious to everyone, but just enough to draw attention. “Look at this,” one whispered to another. “Did anyone approve this transfer?”

“Not that I can see,” the other murmured, voice low. “This is… impossible.”

Exactly, he thought.

He remained invisible. Voiceless. Yet the chaos began to bloom. The board murmured, speculation buzzing through the video feed like static electricity.

Some directed questions toward the CFO, who fumbled. Others glanced nervously at his wife, seeking answers she didn’t yet have.

She paused, adjusting her posture, her eyes sweeping over the participants as if searching for the phantom saboteur.

“This… this is highly irregular,” she said finally. “We’ll investigate immediately. Perhaps an internal error…”

Too late for internal error, he thought.

Minutes passed, tension thickening like molasses. Every eye was fixed on the ledger. Every heartbeat measured, every pulse visible through microexpressions he could read perfectly now.

Then a director leaned toward another, whispering, barely audible over the stream. “He’s already inside our network.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, savoring the sound. Not spoken to him, not to anyone who could confirm, yet confirming everything.

His presence, unseen but fully operative, had already begun to shift the board’s dynamic.

His wife’s hands tightened around the edge of the conference table. He knew without seeing, her mind running through possibilities, suspicion flickering.

She hadn’t expected this. She had never imagined that he could strike without stepping into the light, without making a scene. And he hadn’t.

That was the first rule: subtlety. Revenge could wait; disruption had to come first. Chaos seeded quietly, then watched grow.

The CFO whispered into a phone, the soft hiss of conversation barely audible, but the words hit him through the distortions he now perceived. Yes… I don’t understand… someone flagged it….

He smiled. His hands rested lightly on the keyboard. No haste. Every move precise. Every action measured. “Shall we proceed?” his wife asked the board, attempting to regain control.

They nodded, eyes still flicking toward the ledger, toward the ghost that wasn’t there but had already spoken.

He leaned back in his chair, voice nonexistent, presence invisible, yet utterly commanding. Every plan she had relied upon, every tiny advantage she thought she held, was now under his influence.

The whispers continued, the subtle tremor in the room unmistakable: “He’s inside. He’s watching. We’re exposed.”

And somewhere, deep inside him, the thrill rose, not from destruction, not yet, but from power regained. This was just the beginning.

Because for the first time since he had died, he wasn’t fighting blindly. He was anticipating every step, orchestrating chaos like a maestro conducting silence.

Outside the city moved on, unaware. Inside the network, a shadow was stirring. And the board had no idea it had already been breached.

A board member muttered to another, almost inaudibly: “He’s already inside our network.”