2025-12-31 01:50:06
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Derek Morrison sat in his cramped studio apartment, surrounded by papers. Documents. Photos. Timelines. Evidence. Two years of obsessive investigation spread across every surface. His phone rang. A journalist from the National Herald. "Mr. Morrison. I've reviewed your materials." Derek's heart raced. "And?" "It's... interesting. Circumstantial, but compelling." "So you'll run the story?" "I need more. A witness. Someone who can confirm that Alexander Chen is actually Alex Chen, the delivery driver." "I have someone. Melissa Zhang. She dated him. She can identify him." "Can you get her on record?" "Yes." Derek lied smoothly. "She's ready to talk." "Then we might have something. Get me a signed statement by Thursday. I'll pitch it to my editor." The call ended. Derek stared at
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Alex didn't go home that night. He stayed in his office until 3 AM. Staring at nothing. Melissa's words echoed in his head. *I destroyed a good person. Someone who loved me.* Past tense. Loved. Because that person was dead. The Alex Chen who'd loved Melissa Zhang had died in that hotel two years ago. This Alex—the one who built empires and crushed enemies—he didn't love anyone. Couldn't afford to. His phone buzzed. Isabella. *Still working? You promised you'd come home at a reasonable hour.* He typed back: *Something came up. Don't wait up.* *Alex. You need sleep.* *I know.* *What happened?* He stared at the question. What could he say? That a ghost from his past had apologized? That it hurt more than he'd expected? *Nothing. Just work. I'll be h
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Monday morning came too soon. Melissa stood outside Chen Global headquarters at 5:40 AM. She'd called in sick Friday and Saturday. Spent the weekend in her apartment. Thinking. Spiraling. But bills didn't pay themselves. She had to go back. Had to face him. Rita met her at the time clock. "Feeling better?" "Yes. Thank you." "Good. We were short-staffed this weekend." Rita handed her the assignment sheet. "You're on evening shift today. Six to midnight." Melissa's stomach dropped. "Evening?" "Problem?" "No. I just... I'm usually mornings." "We rotate. It's your turn." Rita's expression softened slightly. "You'll be fine. Executive floor is quieter at night. Easier work." Easier. Right. Melissa took the assignment sheet. Evening shift meant the executives would st
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The Grand Meridian ballroom glittered like a fever dream. Melissa stood near the entrance, clutching a champagne flute she'd taken from a passing waiter. She hadn't sipped it. Just held it. For something to do with her hands. The room was packed. Five hundred guests, maybe more. Corporate executives. Politicians. Socialites. Media personalities. Everyone who mattered in the city. And Melissa. A cleaning lady in a two-year-old dress. She scanned the crowd for Derek. Couldn't find him. But she found the director. He stood near the center of the room. Surrounded by admirers. Wearing an immaculate black tuxedo and that same black mask. Even from across the room, his presence was magnetic. People leaned in when he spoke. Laughed at his comments. Competed for his attention. Power recognized power. Melissa watch
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Saturday afternoon. Derek stood outside Chen Global headquarters. He'd been standing there for twenty minutes. Just watching. People came and went. Employees. Visitors. Delivery drivers. All of them walking into the building like it was normal. Like there wasn't a mystery at the heart of it. His investigator, Marcus Webb, appeared beside him. "You're going to get arrested for loitering." "I'm thinking." "About?" "About how to prove something when the evidence says otherwise." Webb was in his fifties. Ex-cop turned private investigator. He'd seen everything. "The death certificate is real," Webb said. "I checked with the coroner personally. Alex Chen died two years ago. Body was identified by the medical examiner. Cremated. No conspirac
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That evening, Melissa couldn't stop thinking about Derek's accusations. She sat in her apartment. The tiny studio with its cracked walls and leaking faucet. The folder Derek had shown her—those papers—they haunted her. But it couldn't be true. Alex Chen was weak. Soft. Kind to the point of being pathetic. He'd bring her flowers from the discount grocery store. Write her terrible poetry. Work three jobs just to afford cheap dates. That Alex couldn't possibly be the masked director. The director was cold. Calculated. Powerful enough to destroy Derek's empire with a phone call. Two completely different people. Had to be. Her phone rang. Unknown number. She almost didn't answer. But something made her pick up. "Hello?" "Miss Zhang?" Professional voice. Male. "This is Chen Global S
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