Supreme Demon Emperor Returns

13. The First Ripples of War

Shards of crystal glass scattered across a Persian silk rug worth tens of thousands of dollars.

Adrian Aristhos had just thrown his whiskey glass against the wall of the Aristhos Corp main conference room. His face was beet red with rage. Before him, a dozen department heads sat with their heads bowed, their faces as pale as death.

"Idiots. You're all idiots," Adrian screamed. His voice echoed in the soundproof room. "What the hell do I pay you tens of thousands of dollars a month for, huh. To just sit there like statues in a museum."

The Head of the Finance Division, an old man with thick glasses, dared to speak up. "Mr. Adrian, we've tried to trace the flow, but."

"But what," Adrian cut him off harshly. "Are you going to tell me the trail went cold? I don't want to hear that stupid excuse again. The development project in Dubai has stalled because our liquid funds have vanished. Do you understand what that means."

"I understand, sir. But this wasn't an ordinary hack. The bank's security system in the Caymans is military-grade. The trail is completely."

"Shut up," Adrian barked. He kicked the leather chair in front of him, sending it toppling over with a loud thud. "I don't care how sophisticated the system is. I just care about getting our money back. And you."

Adrian pointed a trembling finger at the head of security. "You said Marcus died because of a gas leak in his own room? Do you think I'm a damn fool. Marcus was paranoid. He had gas sensors in every corner of his office."

The head of security swallowed hard. "That was the official police report, Mr. Adrian. The forensics team found no signs of sabotage. Everything points to it being a pure accident."

"A damn accident," Adrian shot back. "If it was an accident, then where's the money now. The money didn't blow up with the gas, did it. Find out who hacked our system. Hack that bank back. I don't care. Find out right now or I'll make sure all of you are homeless by tomorrow morning."

The conference room's heavy mahogany door opened slowly. Isabella Aristhos strode in gracefully. She wore an elegant black dress. Her face was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos in the room.

"Your voice can be heard all the way to the lobby, Adrian," Isabella said coldly. "You're embarrassing our family name."

"I don't care," Adrian retorted. "We just lost assets worth nearly a billion dollars, Mother. And these idiots can only give me a cheap police report."

Isabella looked at the department heads with a disdainful gaze. Her stare was as cold as ice. "You may all leave. Continue with your work."

The executives stood up in unison. They hurried out of the room with sighs of relief, as if they had just been freed from a lion's den. The door closed firmly, leaving a tense silence between mother and son.

"This was no ordinary hack," Isabella said softly, repeating his words. She walked toward the large window overlooking the New York City skyline. "This was a message. Delivered by someone very professional."

"A message from who," Adrian asked, his tone softening slightly in his mother's presence. "Who would dare to mess with the Aristhos family."

Isabella didn't answer. Her mind was racing. The disappearance of Marcus and the company's funds had happened too quickly and too cleanly. There was no digital trail. There were no witnesses. This was the work of a predator who knew exactly where their defenses were weakest.

Elsewhere, in a quiet law firm in the city center, Audrey Vance stared at her computer screen with a furrowed brow. Dozens of lines of Aristhos Corp's confidential transaction data were displayed before her.

The phone on her desk vibrated. The name "Richard Vance" appeared on the screen. Her father.

"Hello, Dad," Audrey greeted, her focus remaining on the screen.

"How's it going, Audrey?" her father's deep voice came from the other end. "Have you found anything unusual?"

"I'm looking at it now," Audrey replied. "There's one outbound transaction from Marcus Thorne's personal account that's very strange. The amount is massive. Seven hundred million dollars."

A sigh came from the other end. "I know. That's why I asked you to look into it. Where did the money go?"

"To a shell company called 'Umbra Capital'," Audrey said. "The strange thing is, I can't find any data on this company. No digital footprint, no public registration, as if it was founded overnight."

There was a moment of silence. "Audrey," her father said, his tone serious. "I want you to stop this investigation right now."

Audrey frowned. "Why? I've just started. This is clearly an embezzlement case."

"This isn't embezzlement," her father cut in quickly. "It's bigger than that. Don't get any more involved. This is for your own safety."

"But, Dad."

The call disconnected. Audrey stared at her phone, confused. Her father's behavior made no sense. This was the first time he had ever asked her to stop an investigation midway.

Her suspicion only grew. She turned back to the screen. The transaction had been legally approved with Marcus Thorne's own digital signature, exactly two hours before the man was reported dead due to an "accident."

"This isn't embezzlement," Audrey whispered to herself. "This is an execution." Her instincts as a forensic auditor screamed that something was wrong. Very wrong. Audrey opened a new encrypted folder on her computer. She named it "Umbra Investigation."

That evening, a heavy atmosphere hung over the lavish Aristhos Residence. Adrian had locked himself in his room. Isabella sat alone in her spacious study, staring into the flames dancing in the marble fireplace with a vacant expression.

A butler entered hesitantly. He carried a square black box on a silver tray.

"Forgive the intrusion, Madam," the butler said nervously. "This package just arrived for you."

Isabella turned. "Who is it from?"

"There's no sender's name, Madam," the butler replied. "The courier only said it was from Umbra Capital."

Isabella's heart beat a little faster. She gestured for the butler to place the box on her desk. After the butler left, Isabella stared at the black box for a long time. It looked elegant and expensive.

With a slightly trembling hand, she opened the lid.

Inside the box, resting on a layer of blood-red velvet, were only two items.

The first was a pitch-black business card with silver print. On it were written only two words in a sharp, elegant script: Umbra Capital.

The second item made Isabella's blood run cold. It was a copy of Marcus Thorne's asset transfer document. At the bottom of the paper was Marcus's signature, which looked shaky and chaotic. And next to the signature, there was a thumbprint, stamped in dried blood.

This was absolute proof. A trophy. Someone had forced Marcus to sign this document before killing him. And this person was not afraid to show the evidence directly. This was no longer just a message. This was an arrogant declaration of war.

Isabella crumpled the paper. Her once-calm face was now deathly pale. She finally realized who the mastermind behind all of this was. The only person who possessed a personal vendetta, a mad intelligence, and the cold-blooded ruthlessness to pull this off.

"Xavier," Isabella whispered. Her voice sounded like the hiss of a venomous snake. "You're still alive, you bastard."

The scene shifts far from the luxurious residence.

At the top of a dark skyscraper, across from the Aristhos Residence complex, a man stood alone in the drizzling rain. His long black coat fluttered in the night wind.

Xavier Aristhos lit his cigarette. The flame from his obsidian lighter illuminated his cold, emotionless face. He exhaled gray smoke into the wet night air.

His eyes were not on the beauty of the city lights below. They were fixed on a single point of light in the distance. A bedroom window on an upper floor of the Aristhos Residence. Behind that window, he could see the silhouette of a girl sitting alone on the edge of her bed.

Livia.

Xavier took a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the tasteless nicotine fill his lungs.