The Dead Useless Fisherman Returns as the Untouchable

Chapter 6: Marcus’ Uncle

Andrew stepped out of the heavy front doors of the Moore mansion, letting the night breeze wash over his face.

​Waiting down the paved driveway was a sleek, pitch-black armored sedan. The rear door clicked open, and Andrew slid into the plush leather interior. Sitting behind the steering wheel was a sharp-eyed man in a dark suit—Leo, his most loyal right hand.

​Leo glanced into the rearview mirror, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Boss! Man, I would have paid a million dollars to be a fly on the wall in there. Tell me, did Victoria and that greedy family of hers actually faint when the ‘dead fisherman’ walked through the front door? Their faces must have been pure comedy!”

​Andrew adjusted his cuffs, his face expressionless. “Drive. And give me the update on the investigation.”

​Seeing Andrew’s icy demeanor, Leo wiped the grin off his face and straightened his shoulders. He became dead serious in an instant. Leo had followed Andrew through hell and back, long before POWER had fallen. To the world, Andrew had been a humble laborer cleaning fish scales for fifteen years, but Leo remembered the terrifying truth.

​Fifteen years ago, the secret organization known as POWER was the most feared entity on the planet, maintaining order in shadows where national armies feared to tread. Andrew had been its youngest Supreme Commander, an untouchable prodigy whose strategic brilliance and combat dominance commanded absolute loyalty from thousands. Dangerous warlords and corrupt billionaires shook with terror at the mere whisper of his name.

​Then came that fatal disaster. During a high-stakes mission, POWER was ambushed, fractured, and dismantled in a single night of fire and blood. Andrew vanished into the freezing river, waking up stripped of his memories to live as an ordinary, abused nobody.

​“Commander,” Leo began, his voice low and heavy, “the intelligence team dug deep into the archives. The destruction of POWER fifteen years ago was never an honest military defeat. Someone leaked our operational routes and sold our coordinates from the inside. It was pure treason.”

​Andrew’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice. “Who was behind it?”

​“We traced the encrypted offshore transactions through the dark web,” Leo explained, navigating the sedan through the quiet night streets. “The traitor had direct ties to deep underground syndicates. But here is the disturbing part we just uncovered—a major branch of that underground network is funded and protected by a family right here in this city. Specifically, someone tied directly to Marcus Vance.”

​Andrew’s jaw tightened. “Speak plainly.”

​“It’s Marcus’s uncle, Donald Vance,” Leo revealed grimly. “On the surface, he runs an ordinary logistics and import-export company near the docks. But behind closed doors, he commands an armed criminal syndicate handling illicit weapons, smuggling, and dirty underground operations.”

​Andrew sat in silence, looking out the tinted window as streetlights blurred past. The threads were beginning to connect. The very family trying to crush him today was rooted in the dark forces that tore his life apart fifteen years ago.

​“Where is Donald Vance right now?” Andrew asked, his voice chillingly calm.

​Leo checked his encrypted console. “His private warehouse on the east pier. He’s there tonight overseeing operations.”

​“Turn the car around,” Andrew commanded. “Drive us there.”

​Leo blinked in surprise, glancing back. “Commander? What do you plan to do?”

​Andrew looked at his reflection in the dark glass. “I just need to have a little chat with Marcus’s uncle.”

​Meanwhile, inside the dining hall of the Moore mansion, the atmosphere was thick with venomous rage.

​Robert Moore kicked an overturned chair across the marble floor. “That insolent, ungrateful dog! After fifteen years of living under our roof and eating our food, that dock beggar dares to spit in our faces!”

​Martha clutched her sore wrist, tears of furious spite streaming down her cheeks. “May lightning strike him down! He belongs in the gutter! Humiliating us in front of the Vance family like this!”

​Julian slammed his fist into the wall. “We should have hired thugs to break both his legs the moment he stepped through the door! He needs a severe lesson!”

​Chloe rolled her eyes with disgust. “He’s disgusting, trying to act tough with forged papers. He’ll always be a pathetic fisherman.”

​Standing near the table, Marcus’s parents were visibly displeased, glaring at the chaotic spectacle with tight lips and folded arms.

​Seeing their growing disapproval, Marcus stepped forward, smoothing his tuxedo jacket with an arrogant sneer. “Mother, Father, Mr. Moore—calm down, all of you. Do not let this clown ruin our celebration. I will personally handle Andrew. By the time I am finished with him, he will bitterly regret ever challenging our two families!”

​Once his parents nodded and stepped away to the lounge, Marcus turned his sharp, calculating eyes directly onto Victoria. His voice dropped to a harsh, demanding whisper.

​“Victoria, look at me. What was that nonsense Andrew said about the twins?” Marcus demanded, gripping her arm tightly. “Tell me the absolute truth right now. Are Lily and Maya his children, or was he telling the truth?”

​Victoria’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her face completely composed, forcing an indignant, hurt look into her eyes.

​“How could you even ask me that, Marcus?” she snapped back, feigning offense. “You saw the old medical records years ago! The original test clearly identified Andrew as the biological father. That report he threw on the floor was an obvious forgery! He’s just a bitter, irresponsible deadbeat trying to shirk his parental duties and rob me of my money!”

​Marcus narrowed his eyes, studying her closely. He didn't fully like the sudden chaos, but he had no logical reason to doubt her word. In his eyes, Andrew was just a trashy dockworker looking for an easy payout.

​“You’re right,” Marcus muttered, his scowl deepening. “He’s just a coward looking for an excuse to run from his responsibilities.”

​Robert, Martha, and Julian chimed in immediately, backing Victoria up with loud shouts of agreement. Yet beneath her confident mask, cold sweat drenched Victoria’s spine.

​She remained deeply uneasy. Her mind kept racing back to that hospital room six months ago. Did Andrew hear what she whispered when he was dying? Had his brain recorded her confession before he was dumped into the river? If he knew the truth, a forged paper wasn't his only weapon.

​Robert waved his hand authoritatively. “Enough debate! Victoria, tomorrow morning, you will take the twins, commission a brand-new certified paternity test, and slam the negative proof directly into that bastard’s face in court!”

​“Of course, Father,” Victoria agreed smoothly, nodding with fake confidence. “I will handle it first thing.”

​Inside, however, panic claws tore at her throat. A real test would ruin her instantly. If Andrew truly remembered her words, another test would only expose her lies to Marcus and the entire world. She needed another plan immediately. She had to find out exactly how much Andrew actually remembered before he brought her whole empire crashing down.

​Late that night, the black sedan pulled up across from a weathered, unmarked industrial building on the foggy outskirts of the east docks.

​From the street, it looked like an ordinary, run-down freight logistics warehouse with rusting metal doors. But Andrew’s trained eyes caught the subtle anomalies instantly. Heavy surveillance cameras were hidden along the roofline, and four armed guards in tactical vests were patrolling the perimeter with assault weapons tucked beneath long jackets.

​Andrew and Leo slipped silently out of the car, moving like phantoms through the blind spots. Leo quickly bypassed the electronic side lock, slipping inside without making a sound.

​Passing through a storage room stacked with empty wooden pallets, they uncovered a reinforced steel blast door leading downward into an extensive, hidden underground facility.

​Andrew descended the metal stairs without making a single sound. The air grew damp and reeked of iron and cigarette smoke.

​As they rounded a corner, Andrew’s eyes fell upon a brutal scene. In the center of a concrete chamber lit by a single hanging bulb, four heavily armed mercenaries stood laughing cruelly.

​Tied tightly to a metal chair was a young woman. Her clothes were torn, her face battered and bleeding, and her camera lay smashed in pieces on the ground beside her. She had a press badge dangling loosely from her collar—a brave investigative reporter who had stumbled into the lion’s den.

​Andrew’s gaze turned deadly cold, his posture hardening into stone as he looked at the thugs.

​This peaceful chat was about to become far messier than expected.