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2025-05-27 02:48:15

Brent rarely let himself feel fear. Not the kind that crawled under your skin and made your hands shake when no one was looking. But tonight, as he sat alone in his darkened office, listening to the city’s distant, restless breathing, he admitted it—just for a moment.

The Walker Group was bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts. The Chens, even behind bars, had found ways to slip their knives into every weak spot he had.

He stared at the boardroom table, scattered with notes and reports. It looked like a war room. Maybe it was. Every day brought a new attack—another shipment delayed at the docks, another union boss suddenly refusing to negotiate, another rumor spread about the company’s “financial instability.” Even employees who’d been loyal from the start were getting spooked.

A light knock at his door brought him back. Lucy stepped in, a mug of tea in her hands. She looked tired but determined, her hair pulled back, eyes sharp. “You’re still here,” she said quietly, as if she’d h

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095
Sofia sat in the back of the rideshare, knuckles white on her phone. Her nerves had barely settled since her undercover day at Marion Blake’s office. She kept replaying the moment Marion caught her in the office, the sharpness in her eyes, the threat in her voice. “If I catch you in here again, you’re gone.” That voice echoed in Sofia’s head as the city lights whirred past. She got out two blocks from the Phoenix Foundation, moving fast and glancing over her shoulder. She’d taken the long way, sure she was being followed. It didn’t help that someone in a gray sedan had tailed her for three turns before peeling off. She climbed the stairs two at a time and let herself into the Foundation’s back door. Ling was waiting in the kitchen, eyes dark with worry. “Did you get anything?” Ling whispered. Sofia nodded, pulling out her phone. “I took pictures of everything I could. There’s one more thing. Marion’s shredding files. I saw her feed whole stacks into the machine. She’s scared.”
093
Prison wasn’t built for men like Victor Lang. He was used to deals in smoky boardrooms, not iron bars and cold food. But he adapted—he always did. He watched, he waited, he learned the routines. It took weeks, but eventually he found the weak link—Warden Harris, a man with expensive tastes and a failing marriage. Victor called him over one evening, voice low. “You like horses, Harris?” The warden stiffened. “What’s it to you?” Victor smiled. “I have friends on the outside. They could help with your debt. All I need is a favor.” Harris hesitated, but Victor saw the hunger in his eyes. “What kind of favor?” the warden asked. “I want a meeting. Me, Sarah Chen, Robert Chen. One hour. No guards, just us.” Harris shook his head. “Impossible.” Victor leaned forward, voice a whisper. “Nothing’s impossible. Not with the right incentive.” He slid a slip of paper across the table. Harris read it, eyes widening at the number. “Half now, half after the meeting,” Victor said. Harris
092
Ling spent her nights with paperwork, her days with suspicion. Since the audit began, she’d barely slept—her mind kept chasing threads, chasing secrets. Tonight, she sat at her kitchen table, files spread out, coffee going cold. She scanned emails, payroll logs, council expenditures. Then—there it was. A payment from Robert Chen’s offshore account, dated five years back. The recipient: Marion Blake. Ling’s pulse quickened. The amount wasn’t huge, but it was enough. She dug deeper—more payments, spread across months, always right before key city council votes. Blake’s name, always the recipient. Ling stood, pacing the small kitchen. This was it—the proof she needed to bring Blake down. But it was circumstantial. Without a smoking gun—an admission, a contract, an email—Blake would walk. She called Brent, her voice low. “I found something,” she said. “Blake took bribes from Robert. Small amounts, but consistent. The money’s real, but unless we get her to admit it, or find a docu
091
Jessica always woke before dawn. She liked the quiet, the way the city still slept, the factory cool and silent before the shift began. For a few minutes, it was hers alone. She walked the floor, clipboard in hand, ticking off inventory and safety checks.The new sardine line gleamed under the overhead lights. Tommy was already there, eyes red from lack of sleep. “Morning,” Jessica said, forcing a smile. “Hey honey.” Tommy didn’t look up from the machine he was checking. “Pressure valve’s acting up again.” Jessica frowned. “That’s the third time this week.” “Yeah,” he said. “And I don’t buy it’s just bad luck.” They worked in silence, inspecting each valve, every belt and panel. When Jessica reached the main processing machine, her stomach twisted. The safety latch was bent at an odd angle. She’d seen it yesterday—intact, brand new. She called Tommy over. “Look at this.” He knelt, running his finger over the latch. “Somebody forced it. See the scoring?” Jessica nodded. “Th
090
Brent Walker hated politics. He hated the backroom deals, the fake smiles, the way people shook your hand while planning to stab you in the back. But sometimes, you had to wade into the muck to get anything done. He stood outside City Hall, tie straight, notes in hand. The air smelled like rain and old cement. Around him, TV vans jostled for space. Adam gave him a thumbs-up from the crowd, and Ling waited at the steps, her phone glued to her ear. “You ready?” Ling asked. Brent nodded, but his stomach twisted. “As I’ll ever be.” Inside, the council chamber was packed. Reporters lined the back wall. Factory workers and Foundation staff filled the seats, their faces tense and hopeful. At the front, a long table faced the city council—seven men and women, each with a nameplate and a poker face. Brent took a seat at the table, notes spread before him. The meeting began with roll call, minutes, procedural nonsense. Brent listened, his heart pounding, until the council chair fin
089
Sarah Chen had always been good at reading people. In prison, that skill was the difference between a hot meal and a black eye, a favor and a beating. She used it like a weapon. Her cell was gray and cold, a thin blanket the only thing keeping her from freezing at night. But Sarah’s mind was never still. She watched. She listened. And she waited. Her first ally was Officer Prentiss. He was new, and it showed—the way he flinched at the clang of the cell doors, the way he lingered outside the women’s block just a little too long. Sarah caught his gaze the first week. It took her three days to find his weakness—money, and a need to feel important. She found him in the laundry room, folding sheets. “Officer Prentiss,” she said, soft as silk. “Must be hard, being the only one here with a brain.” He flushed, glancing around. “Shouldn’t talk to inmates.” “Sure,” she said, voice low. “But I’ve got something you want.” He hesitated. “What’s that?” She smiled, slow and dangerous.

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