2024-11-12 01:16:10
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BILLION DOLLAR DENIAL
The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, but the streets of Westwood still gleamed with moisture, their surface was slick beneath the streetlights. Fog rolled along the asphalt like silent watchers. It was nearly midnight when the city’s calm was broken by the low growl of engines.A convoy of ten vehicles rolled steadily through the main road, each one was painted matte black with tinted windows. In the center of the formation was a heavy armored truck—thick, reinforced, and bulletproof. Its sides bore no markings, but every pedestrian or guard who saw it knew what it meant.The Bowens had arrived.Each vehicle was guarded. In the passenger seats and rear compartments sat men in fitted black suits, wearing earpieces and carrying sidearms. Their shoulders bore a silver insignia—two wings folded around a spiral, the unmistakable crest of the Bowen family.They didn’t need to announce themselves.The convoy moved like a shadow, and the streets parted before them. Police vehicles clear
THE ICEBERG EFFECT
“Tariq speaks truth,” he said bluntly. “And the Bowens are reckless. If they continue tampering with unstable quantum fields, we could face more than market crashes. We could be looking at dimensional instability.”A murmur of alarm swept through the room. Daniel looked around.“I say we move swiftly. We will lend our cybersecurity arm to the investigation and support the asset freeze.”Then came the Velcan representative—Braelyn Velcan, the eldest daughter of Evander Velcan, and heir to the Chrono Surge biotech fortune. She stood in her dark navy coat, her sleeves were covered in metallic weaves that responded to her neural input.“The Veil isn’t just unstable. It interferes with chrono-fields. We’ve seen strange delays, feedback, even short-term time lapses around Bowen installations.” She looked directly at Tariq.“We back your proposal. My father has authorized the use of our legal and surveillance teams. The Bowens played with forces they didn’t understand.”Then Lucian Zypher,
HOSTILE INTENTIONS
Two days later, the Diamond Bank headquarters buzzed with quiet tension. The building stood tall in the heart of Westwood City, it was a steel and glass fortress that overlooked the skyline like a watchful giant.Inside the conference room on the 29th floor, twelve of the most powerful financial chiefs in the city had gathered. These were the top men and women—bank governors, shareholders, investors, and board executives. Representatives from the power families were present except that from the Orion family and the Bowen family.All sat around a long glass table, their faces were serious and expectant.At the head of the table sat Tariq Khyber.He was dressed in a dark tailored suit, his face was calm but unreadable. Behind him stood a digital screen, showing a paused slideshow with the words:“CONFIDENTIAL REPORT — Quantum Veil: Anomalies & Financial Exposure”Tariq stood up and cleared his throat.“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “thank you for coming. I called this emergency mee
LEVERAGE
It was just past midnight when the heavy doors of Tariq Khyber’s mansion groaned open. Farouq Khyber stepped into the marble foyer, his coat was wet from the soft drizzle outside. His boots echoed on the tiles as he walked in, carrying a small black case under one arm.Tariq met him halfway across the room, his expression was tight.“You have it?” he asked.Farouq nodded, holding up the case. “All of it. Every encrypted file. System blueprints. Backup security logs. And... code fragments of the Quantum Veil.”Tariq’s eyes sharpened. “No trackers?”“I swept it twice,” Farouq replied. “And I removed the physical tag. They won’t trace this.”They moved into Tariq's private study, where the dim lights made the room feel like a den of secrets. The air smelled of old books and the faint hint of sandalwood incense. On the long oak table at the center, Tariq had already prepared two laptops and a small quantum decoder.He had everything prepared and both Tariq and Farouq were ready for wha
A TOAST TO FORESIGHT
Martin Vosk narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by the First Glitch?”The other three men mirrored his confusion, leaning slightly forward. Their expressions were a mixture of curiosity and unease. Even Leonardo Feng, usually stoic and unreadable, furrowed his brow.Tariq Khyber didn’t rush his answer. He let the question hang for a beat, taking a slow sip of his wine before setting the glass down with care. The glow from the lanterns above cast subtle flickers on his sapphire pin.“The First Glitch,” he said at last, with a low voice. “was the beginning of the end for Carl Bowen’s empire.”Martin frowned, still skeptical. “You're speaking in riddles, Khyber.”Tariq folded his hands on the table. “Two weeks ago, the Bowen Data Centre in East Ridge experienced what the public was told was a ‘routine systems malfunction.’ Power outage. Minor fire. That’s the version given to the press.” He leaned forward, with intense eyes. “But the truth? It was a full-scale catastrophe.”Theo Baine
WARNING IN WINE
The courtyard of Tariq Khyber’s estate was a masterstroke in opulence—a statement of affluence carved from ivory stone and sculpted hedgerows, overlooking the lush emerald fields of Westside of Westwood. Marble fountains whispered a soothing rhythm while peacocks strutted lazily between rosewood benches. Exotic floral scents wafted through the evening air, blending with the subtle notes of aged whiskey and Cuban cigar smoke.At the center of it all, beneath a canopy of glowing amber lanterns, sat a circular stone table set for five. The place settings were immaculate—silver filigree plates, crystal glasses filled with Darkfall Reserve wine (aged 102 years), and hand-carved walnut menus bearing selections from the continent’s most exquisite chefs.Tariq Khyber stood by the head of the table, his dark suit was crisp, his shoes were gleaming like obsidian, and a sapphire pin was resting against his chest—a symbol of Diamond Bank, Westwood’s central and most powerful financial institut
THE FIRST GLITCH
Morris turned slowly, a lazy smile plastered on his face. His toolbox was in one hand, while the other was raised in casual greeting. The guard approaching him was young, broad-shouldered, with suspicion etched into his brow.“Evenin’, sir,” Morris said in a soft drawl, feigning weariness. “Got a work order from Systems—AC glitch in Subsection 7A. Supervisor is breathing down my neck. You know how it is.”The guard frowned. “I wasn’t informed of—”“Yeah, they’re running it through a temp channel,” Morris interrupted smoothly, stepping closer. “Fast-track clearance. Emergency override. I got the doc in my pad—”He reached into his pocket. The guard instinctively leaned in, scanning for a badge. But instead of a pad, Morris's hand shot out like a piston, slamming into the guard’s nose with a sharp crack. Blood spurted as the guard staggered back, his eyes were wide.Morris surged forward, hooking his arm around the man’s throat in one fluid motion. They stumbled back against the wall
BREACH OF THE VEIL
The sky above northern Westwood was unusually calm that night. A pale moon hung low, casting a soft silver sheen over the city’s skyline.It watched silently, like a distant sentinel, as a storm began to brew—not in the heavens, but deep in the arteries of manmade power.The Bowen Corporation Data Centre loomed like a modern-day fortress of glass and steel, nestled in the business hub of the North.It wasn’t just a building. It was a throne, a tower of ambition piercing the clouds, pulsing with the digital lifeblood of an empire.Within its encrypted walls lay intelligence networks, classified market simulations, sensitive political dealings, and decades of strategic blueprints—data that allowed the Bowen family to claw their way into relevance amid Westwood’s cutthroat power race.The Bowens didn’t rule Westwood—they survived it. And they did so not with armies, but with algorithms.Inside, the atmosphere was sterile and efficient. White light panels flickered across every hallway.S
RAIN OVER ASHES
Rain poured from the heavens like judgment. Thick, slashing sheets of water fell unrelentingly, soaking the cemetery in gloom. Thunder cracked the sky open, roaring like some ancient god grieving in the clouds. The earth was a swamp of grief and mud, swallowing boots with every cautious step.Lightning blazed across the heavens, casting pale, fleeting shadows over the gray tombstones. The storm gave the graves a trembling kind of life—like the dead were stirring beneath the soil.In the center of the graveyard, beneath a cluster of black umbrellas held by solemn guards, a casket rested on iron beams above an open grave. The hole was deep, dark, and hungry.Tariq Khyber stood unmoving, his tall frame cloaked in a drenched charcoal overcoat, his eyes locked on the corpse inside the open coffin. Rain rolled down his face and soaked the stubble along his jaw, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze was glassy, hard, unblinking. He looked like a man cut open by invisible grief, bleeding only o
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