THEY HUNTED THE WRONG MAN

CHAPTER 6

Sera didn’t like it one bit.

The meeting place was a shipyard on the edge of the Wards, a graveyard of rusted hulls and rotting wood that smelled of brackish water and diesel. 

Idris pulled his collar up against the biting wind, his hand resting on the heavy, cold weight of a sidearm he’d taken from Walter’s safe. Sera had pleaded for caution, her eyes flickering with panic, but Walter had simply nodded.

 "The boy is broken," the old man had said. "Broken things either cut you or they reveal the way out."

Derek stood beneath the flickering light of a dying streetlamp, his frame hunched, his expensive suit now rumpled and stained with the grime of a man who had stopped caring about the surface.

When he saw Idris, he didn't reach for a weapon. He just dropped his hands, exposing his palms. He looked like a man who had been walking a tightrope of wrong choices for so long he’d forgotten that solid ground existed.

"You’re late," Derek murmured, his voice hollow.

"I’m here," Idris retorted, keeping his distance, his eyes scanning the shadows for a sniper or a secondary team. "Talk fast, Derek. My patience for your brand of fiction is gone."

Derek let out a dry, mirthless laugh. He confirmed everything with the detachment of a man confessing to a priest he didn't believe in. He had been recruited by Conrad Veil two years ago, a bottom-feeder elevated to the role of a corporate scalpel.

His task was simple: destabilize any business that encroached on the utility corridors Veil required for his master plan. Ironwall Security had been a target since the day it gained its first major municipal contract.

"Amara," Idris said, the name feeling like a curse on his tongue.

Derek looked away, toward the black, churning water of the channel.

 "That was my move. I saw the way you looked at her, the way you let her dictate your drive. I introduced her to you, I coached her on what to listen for, what to find in your files. She was a hollow person, Idris. She wanted a way out of the Wards, and I gave her a ladder.”

He added, “She didn't have to be convinced to betray you; she just had to be told it was the price of a better view."

Idris felt a cold, sharp rage ignite in his gut, but he forced it down, locking it away behind a wall of tactical focus. "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

"Because the game is changing," Derek said, his voice dropping to a tremor. "Conrad’s 72-hour play isn't a legal challenge. That’s just the smoke. The fire is inside the municipal building."

Derek leaned in, his face twisted with genuine fear. "Conrad has a contact inside the property registration office. Someone deep in the bowels of the records department. Tonight, they’re going to alter the timestamp on the transfer filing. They’ll make it look like the transfer happened after Conrad filed his challenge. Once that record is altered, the challenge takes automatic precedence. The entire Reiss estate freezes pending a probate hearing. That hearing will take eighteen months, minimum."

Idris did the math, the cold reality hitting him harder than a punch to his chest. "Walter has three months. If the estate is frozen for eighteen, it dies with him in legal limbo. And Conrad’s standing claim absorbs it by default."

"Exactly," Derek said with a bitter chuckle. "He’s corrupting the official record. It’s a digital assassination. I know who the contact is. I have the name."

Idris looked at the man—the man who had shattered his life, the man who had sat in his bed, the man who had systematically destroyed everything he had built for seven years.

 "This is a bit hard to believe, Derek. You’ve got a seat at the table with the most powerful man in the city. You’re one of his lieutenants."

Derek was quiet for a long time. The only sound was the wind howling through the remains of a nearby crane.

 "Conrad told me last week that once the estate is secured, everyone who was part of the operation gets cleaned up. I asked what that meant. He didn't answer. He just looked at me the way you look at a spreadsheet you’re about to delete.”

Derek stepped closer, his eyes locked onto Idris’s with a desperate intensity. "I know what it means. It means a shallow grave and a cold night. I’ve seen what he does to loose ends. And the worst part? Amara doesn’t know yet."

Idris went very still. The air around him seemed to freeze. "What do you mean, she doesn’t know?"

"She’s at Veil Tower," Derek said, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "Conrad’s private floor. She thinks she’s celebrating the successful completion of the job. She thinks she’s moving up. She doesn’t know she’s already served her purpose. To Conrad, she’s just another liability to be scrubbed."

Idris felt the wall in his hardened heart crack. He thought of Amara—the woman he had loved, the woman who had burned his world to the ground. Despite the betrayal, despite the cold, calculated way she had hollowed him out, the thought of her in Conrad’s crosshairs sent a jolt of protective instinct through him.

"Where is she?" Idris demanded, his voice a low growl.

"Conrad’s penthouse level," Derek replied. "But if you go there, you’re walking into a slaughterhouse. You can’t stop the timestamp corruption from here, and you can’t get to her without alerting his entire security detail."

Idris looked at the dark, looming silhouette of the city skyline in the distance. The game was no longer about money or infrastructure. It was about survival, and for the first time, he realized that he and the woman who had destroyed him were on the same side of a blade.

"Give me the name," Idris said, reaching into his jacket. "And then pray I don't decide to leave you here with the tide."

Derek pulled a small, crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and pressed it into Idris’s hand. "His name is Miller. He’s the registrar on the night shift. You have six hours before they hit the server. If you fail, Idris, there’s nothing left."

Idris shoved the paper into his pocket, his gaze fixed on the distance. He had a target, a mission, and a debt to pay to a woman who had already sold his soul. He turned back toward the city, the darkness no longer a shroud, but a weapon. 

The hunt had officially begun.