The Billionaire Secret

Whispers In The Stack

The prison library was colder than the rest of the building. Mark didn’t know if it was by design or just neglect, but he didn’t mind. Cold meant his senses stayed sharp. It kept him from drifting into the dull, slow haze that most inmates lived in. He moved through the shelves like they were thick woods, his fingers lightly touching the cracked spines of forgotten books. Everything smelled like dust and ink.

At first, the library was just a hiding place. Somewhere to escape the constant threat of a fight or a stare that could lead to trouble. But lately, it had become more than that. The silence wasn’t just peaceful anymore—it was useful. The stacks were now his war room.

He picked a table way in the back, far from the few men who actually came to read. The light above him buzzed and blinked every few minutes, and the table tilted to one side. But he liked it like that. The imperfections kept him alert. Something about it helped him focus.

He was digging through a pile of old business magazines, the kind with outdated stock numbers and boring headlines. No one touched them. But he wasn’t after headlines—he was chasing patterns. Names. Details hidden in plain sight.

He flipped a page and his eyes caught a line that made his hand freeze.

“Delridge Holdings acquires Morvan Realty in quiet merger. Sources close to CEO Richard Hammond suggest...”

Richard. That name had been popping up again and again. Always close to deals that didn’t make much noise. Always hiding behind companies that never made the news. Lisa’s father. Mark clenched his jaw.

He scribbled a quick note on the back of an old checkout card. His pen scratched hard into the paper.

Lisa.

He hadn’t let himself think of her in months. But here, in this quiet corner, she was everywhere. The sound of her voice. The smell of her shampoo. The way she looked at him that day in court. Not with love. Not even with fear. Just cold. Distant. Like she didn’t know him anymore.

Had she known they were setting him up? Or had she just turned away because it was easier?

He turned another page, and a thin piece of folded paper fluttered out. It landed on the table. He opened it carefully—it was a newspaper clipping, old and yellowed. The headline hit him like a punch to the gut:

“Real Estate Consultant Found Dead After Corruption Allegations.”

The name underneath it: Caleb Drew.

Mark’s heart skipped. Caleb had been mentioned once in a whispered conversation he overheard during a meeting—someone who’d dared to speak up about zoning fraud linked to Richard Hammond’s real estate empire. Everyone ignored him. Then he died.

The article said it was suicide. But something about it didn’t sit right. His gut twisted. The timing, the tone, the convenient silence—it all screamed cover-up.

He folded the clipping and slipped it into his pocket. That night, he dreamt of Caleb hanging in a small, windowless room. His lips purple. His eyes wide and full of regret.

By morning, Mark had made a list.

Not just of enemies—but of everything. Lisa. Richard. Caleb. Delridge Holdings. The false witness. The locked accounts. The missing documents. Even the judge who barely listened during his trial.

He kept his notes in an old notebook hidden behind a row of heavy law books. He made a messy timeline. Red ink for betrayal. Blue for facts. Black for things he still didn’t understand. It wasn’t pretty, but it was something. It made him feel like he was moving toward something.

Sometimes, he just stared at the list, willing the pieces to rearrange themselves into a pattern that made sense. It was like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle without knowing what the full picture looked like. But slowly, he was beginning to see edges forming. The shape of the truth was blurry, but it was there.

A voice broke his focus.

“You writing a novel, or trying to figure out how to break out?”

Mark looked up. A guy stood across from him. Tall and lean, glasses taped at the bridge. He held a thick tax law book like it was a sandwich.

“Name’s Cole,” the man said, sitting down without asking. “I’ve seen you flipping through those business mags. Figured you weren’t just killing time.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “You any good with this stuff?”

“Good enough to get caught,” Cole said with a crooked smile. “Used to run my own company. Got greedy. Got caught.”

Mark eyed him. “So why tell me?”

Cole shrugged. “You’re clearly digging for something. Revenge, maybe? I’m bored. Thought I’d help, if you’re open to it.”

Mark didn’t answer right away. He didn’t trust easy. But something about Cole didn’t set off alarms. He didn’t feel like a threat. Just a guy who already lost and had nothing left to lose.

He slid a page over. “You know Delridge Holdings?”

Cole scanned the text, his brow rising. “Yeah. Real quiet group. No press, no big moves. But they’re involved in a lot. Real estate mainly. They use shell companies, nonprofits, hidden partners. You don’t find them unless you know where to dig.”

Mark leaned closer. “I think they’re linked to the people who set me up.”

Cole chuckled. “Then you’re messing with some real dangerous ghosts.”

They spent over an hour digging through more books. Articles, journals, court case summaries—anything with hints. They were looking for the invisible strings. The hands behind the curtain.

For the first time in a long time, Mark didn’t feel powerless. He didn’t feel like a prisoner. He felt like a hunter.

That night, back in his cell, he pulled out the clipping of Caleb Drew and whispered the man’s name like a prayer.

He didn’t know if he’d ever clear his name.

But maybe… maybe he could make them regret ever crossing him.