The Salaryman's Soul-Sucking Contract

Chapter 17: The Singapore Connection Revealed

Chapter 17: The Singapore Connection Revealed

The rain drumming against the roof of the matte-black sedan sounded like an escalating war zone, a relentless rhythm matching the frantic pulse in Daffa’s temples. He stared sideways at Clarisse through the dim, amber glow of the dashboard. Her hands were still welded to the steering wheel, knuckles devoid of color, eyes fixed on the rain-blurred windshield.

"The federal prosecutor's office?" Daffa repeated, his voice dripping with a dry, humorless disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? Your father owns half the judiciary in this city. Walking into a local federal bureau is basically walking into a slaughterhouse with a neon sign that says please interrogate us first."

"Not the Jakarta bureau," Clarisse replied, her voice dangerously calm, cutting through the humid air of the car. She finally turned her head, meeting his gaze with an unyielding intensity. "The transnational financial crimes division. They report directly to the regional Interpol liaison in Singapore. My father’s reach stops at the maritime border, Daffa. But to unlock their cooperation, we need the missing link."

Daffa narrowed his eyes, shifting his weight against the leather seat. "What missing link? We dumped the entire Project Kraken database onto global wire services an hour ago. What more could there possibly be?"

Clarisse reached into the interior breast pocket of her soaked blazer, her movements precise and unhurried. She withdrew a small, old-fashioned micro-SD card—the kind that hadn't been standard in smartphones for years—and held it out between two manicured fingers.

"The Singapore Connection," she said softly.

Daffa stared at the tiny piece of plastic. A cold spike of dread pricked his spine. "That's what was in the note. The warning Julian sent... the analyst who vanished five years ago."

"His name was Leo," Clarisse said, her gaze dropping briefly to the gearshift before snapping back to Daffa. "He was my father’s lead strategist before you. Brilliant, idealistic, and entirely naive. He discovered that Project Kraken wasn't just a domestic embezzlement ring. It was a laundering pipeline moving capital through shell accounts in Singapore to finance regional political campaigns and weaponized corporate takeouts."

"And your father had him erased," Daffa finished, the pieces of the puzzle violently snapping into place. "Not fired. Erased."

"My father didn't just ruin his career; he used the Singaporean banking network to freeze Leo's assets, frame him for insider trading, and force him into exile under an assumed identity," Clarisse’s voice cracked, a rare fracture in her armor. "I found this micro-SD card hidden behind the false back of my father’s office safe three weeks ago. It contains Leo’s personal digital diary, audio logs of my father giving the orders, and the exact routing numbers for every offshore account in Marina Bay."

Daffa reached out, his thumb brushing against her cold knuckles as he took the card from her hand. The plastic was freezing, yet it felt heavier than a lead weight. "Why didn't you destroy it? If your father knew you had this, he would have treated you like an enemy from day one."

"Because I needed insurance," Clarisse confessed, her dark eyes flashing with a desperate honesty. "I kept it because I was waiting for the right moment—and the right person—to help me pull the trigger. I thought I could manage the fallout myself. I was wrong. I needed someone who couldn't be bought off by the Bautista name."

"So you built Phase 2: The Scapegoat just in case I turned out to be as corrupt as the rest of them," Daffa said, the bitterness returning to his tone, though the heat had faded into a dull, aching exhaustion.

"I built it because I was terrified," she whispered, leaning closer, the scent of rain and jasmine washing over him. "Daffa, look at me. I spent my whole life surrounded by sharks. When you walked into that elevator, you were a exhausted, rumpled analyst who didn't even know whose floor he was on. I didn't want to destroy you. I wanted to protect you from the machine. But the machine caught up to us anyway."

Before Daffa could formulate a response—before he could decide whether to believe her apologies or push her away for good—the dashboard screen flickered violently. The built-in GPS navigation system chimed, overriding the audio system with an automated emergency broadcast.

Warning. Perimeter breach detected. Vehicle tracking active.

Clarisse’s head snapped toward the rearview mirror. Cutting through the heavy sheets of rain behind them were two pairs of blinding, high-intensity LED headlights, moving at terrifying speed down the residential street. Bautista security had found them.

"Hold on," Clarisse snarled, slamming the transmission into drive.

The sedan rocketed forward, tires screaming against the asphalt as the pursuing SUVs closed the gap with frightening efficiency. The game of corporate chess was over; the predators were done playing.

Daffa jammed the micro-SD card securely into his pocket, gripping the edge of the passenger door as the car fishtailed around a rain-slicked corner. "So much for the peaceful drive to Singapore."

"We’re not going to Singapore yet," Clarisse yelled over the roar of the engine as she threw the car into a hard left turn down a narrow alleyway. "We’re going to the old port warehouse. The one place my father's corporate goons won't look because it's already scheduled for demolition."

"And if they corner us there?" Daffa asked, his analytical mind calculating their odds and coming up dangerously close to zero.

Clarisse didn't look at him, her eyes locked on the dark, rain-swept road ahead, a cold, dangerous smile touching the corners of her lips.

"Then we burn down the warehouse with them inside it."