The Lawrence Grand Hotel hosts the annual New Harbor Elite Gala—a night where business sharks and big names flaunt their wealth and influence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors. Champagne flows endlessly. Designer gowns and tailored suits fill every corner.
The Sonars still attend, they are desperate to appear stable despite their collapsing company. They need to project strength, find new investors, convince everyone the rumors are exaggerated. Charlotte wears her most expensive dress—midnight blue with diamonds at the throat. She forces smiles as she moves through the crowd, her face was a perfect mask. Lugar clings to her arm, pretending confidence he doesn't feel. Enid does the same, laughing too loud at jokes that aren't funny. Then a new face arrives at the entrance. He's wearing a sleek black suit, perfectly tailored to his frame. His stride is calm and measured. His expression was unreadable. He radiates power and wealth the way others radiate perfume. The doorman checks the guest list. "Name, sir?" "Mr. Phoenix," Mavis says smoothly. Recognition flickers across the doorman's face. "Phoenix Holdings. Of course, sir. Welcome." The room doesn't notice him at first, but Charlotte does. She freezes mid-laugh, her champagne glass is halfway to her lips. Her eyes lock onto him across the crowded hall. For a moment, she can't process what she's seeing. Mavis Donard. But he looks... different, and stronger. His shoulders are broader. His jaw is set with confidence, his eyes are cold and alert. He's alive in a way he never was before. It's impossible. "No way," Lugar mutters beside her, following her gaze. His grip tightens on her arm. "He's supposed to be…." "Dead," Charlotte whispers. But Mavis is very much alive. He moves through the crowd effortlessly, shaking hands with investors. The same people who once mocked him at Sonar parties now nod respectfully. They fetch him drinks, they laugh at his comments. They treat him like he matters. The System pings quietly in Mavis's mind: [Social Manipulation Skill Active.] Every word he speaks is calculated. Every smile precise. He knows exactly what each person wants to hear, and he gives it to them. Charlotte sets down her glass and starts toward him. She needs to understand, and needs to know how this is possible. But guards step into her path before she gets close. Two large men in dark suits, their earpieces were visible. "Sorry, ma'am," one says politely but firmly. "VIPs only beyond this point." Her smile falters. "Excuse me? I'm Charlotte Sonar. I'm on the board of…" "We understand, ma'am. But this is Mr. Phoenix's private section. He owns the venue." The words hit her hard. She couldn't believe what she's hearing. "Owns?" "Yes, ma'am. The entire hotel." Whispers ripple through the nearby crowd. People start turning, noticing the confrontation. "Isn't that the Sonar's son-in-law?" someone says. "The one they treated like a servant?" "Oh, look. His ex-wife wants to cozy up to him now." "How the mighty have fallen. They laughed, but it wasn't sympathetic. It was mocking. Charlotte's face burns. The humiliation is public and undeniable. She stands there, blocked by security, while people she considers beneath her, gossip and whisper. Mavis turns slowly, meeting her gaze across the room. The hall seems to go quiet for that one moment. His expression is calm. Charlotte forces her smile back into place and approaches as close as the guards allow. "So... you're still alive." Mavis's lips curve slightly. "Unfortunately for you, yes." Lugar pushes forward, his jaw tightened. "You think this little stunt scares us? You're playing with fire." Mavis leans in slightly, his voice dropping low. "Not a stunt. Just a small reminder. Some debts are paid in cash. Others..." He glances at the crowd watching them. "Others are paid in public." He nods toward the large projection screen at the front of the hall. The lights went dim, as conversations fade and everyone turns to look. A live financial report appears on the screen in red letters: SONAR CORPORATION: STOCK –85% CREDIT RATING: DOWNGRADED BANKRUPTCY PROCEEDINGS: IMMINENT The crowd gasps collectively. Investors murmur to each other, pulling out phones. Photographers snap pictures of Charlotte's frozen expression, Enid trying to hide her face behind her hand, Knuckles looking like he might collapse. "That's not…." Charlotte starts, but her voice cracks. "Real?" Mavis finishes. "Oh, it's very real. Phoenix Holdings called in every loan. Your company has fourteen days to pay three hundred million dollars. Can you?" Everyone was silent with shock. Lugar loses his temper. He lunges forward and grabs Mavis by the collar, pulling him close. "You bastard…." Camera flashes erupt as every phone in the room is recording now. Security swarms immediately. They pull Lugar off, restraining him professionally. He struggles, shouting, but they drag him backward. Mavis adjusts his suit calmly, brushing invisible dust from his shoulders. He looks at Charlotte, and for the first time, she sees genuine coldness in his eyes. "Three years, Charlotte. Three years crawling at your feet. Cleaning your toilets, serving your guests and being treated like I was less than human." His voice is quiet, but the coldness is undeniable. "This is me standing up. Consider it my wedding gift to you and Lugar. Best wishes for your new relationship." He turns and walks toward the exit. The crowd parts for him automatically. Nobody stops him nor speaks. As he steps outside, a luxurious black car pulls up smoothly. The driver opens the door, and Mavis slides into the leather interior. His phone pings softly. [Mission Complete: Public Humiliation Achieved.] [Reward: Authority +3 | Reputation +10 | Vengeance Progress: 27%.] [New File Unlocked: LEWINSKY – MASTER SYSTEM.] Mavis stares at the last line. His practiced smile fades slowly. "Lewinsky..." he murmurs. The name from the file in The Vault. L. Holdings. The connection his father had marked as dangerous. He opens the file. Information floods his screen—corporation structures, shadow investments, names of people who disappeared, and at the center of it all, is one name: Chucky Lewinsky. [WARNING: Target possesses System variant. Threat level: MAXIMUM.] Mavis leans back in his seat as the car pulls away from the hotel. Through the tinted window, he can see Charlotte standing in the entrance, looking lost. "Guess it's time to dig up the real devil," he says quietly. The System hums in agreement.Latest Chapter
Dinner with the Devil
Celestine's sits on the top floor of the Meridian Building,glass walls offering a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of New Harbor. It's the kind of restaurant where reservations are made months in advance, where entrees cost more than most people's weekly rent, where politicians and CEOs conduct business over wine that's older than their marriages.Mavis arrives at six fifty-five, dressed in a suit he bought that afternoon. Charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, nothing flashy. The Glock is tucked against his ribs in a shoulder holster, hidden beneath the jacket. He knows they'll search him. He's counting on it, actually.The hostess at the podium looks up as he approaches, her professional smile already in place. "Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?""Phoenix. Seven o'clock."Her smile doesn't waver, but something shifts in her eyes. Recognition maybe, or just awareness that he's expected. "Of course, Mr. Phoenix. Right this way."She leads him through the main dining room. Cryst
The Six
The warehouse smells like motor oil and old concrete.Mavis arrives exactly on time, parking his sedan in the shadows between two shipping containers. The sun has fully risen now, morning light slanting through gaps in the corrugated metal walls. Vik'ki's guards are visible everywhere on catwalks, behind crates, standing near the entrance with rifles held casually.They don't stop him this time. Just nod as he passes.Inside, Vik'ki sits at the same desk on the elevated platform, but he's not alone. Three men stand around him, all wearing the kind of tactical gear that suggests they're more than simple street muscle. Maps are spread across the desk surface, marked with red circles and connecting lines.Vik'ki looks up as Mavis approaches. "You're punctual. I like that.""You said it was urgent." Mavis climbs the platform, his eyes scanning the maps. They show New Harbor and the surrounding areas, with concentrations of marks in the financial district, the docks, and several warehouse
Predator vs. Phoenix
The penthouse suite Mavis rents under a false name isn't as luxurious as Phoenix Tower was, but it's secure. Twenty-third floor, reinforced doors, three exit routes he's already mapped in his head. The windows face east, giving him a view of the harbor and the rising sun painting the water in shades of copper and gold.He sits at the dining table with his laptop open, three burner phones arranged beside it. His shoulder is bandaged now, the bullet graze cleaned and wrapped. The bruises on his ribs have darkened, but the pain is manageable.Sleep can wait. Right now, he needs information.The System chimes softly:[Mission Update: Establish Market Dominance.][Target Identified: Helix Industries.][Acquisition Probability: 91%.][Projected Timeline: 5-7 days.]Helix Industries. Mid-sized tech manufacturer, struggling with debt after a failed product launch. Their stock has been falling steadily for six months. Perfect target for someone looking to acquire assets on the cheap, strip wha
The King's Proposition
The SUV has the smell of cigarettes.Mavis sits in the back seat, wedged between two of Vik'ki's soldiers. Both men are built like refrigerators, shoulders so broad they press against him from either side. The lieutenant rides shotgun, occasionally glancing back through the rearview mirror with that same easy grin.Nobody speaks.The city slides past the tinted windows in streaks of neon and shadow. They leave the motel district behind, heading west toward the docks. The buildings grow older, more industrial. Warehouses with broken windows. Chain-link fences topped with razor wire. This is Vik'ki's territory, where legitimate business fears to tread.Mavis keeps his breathing steady, his hands resting casually on his thighs. The System hums quietly in his mind, tracking the route, calculating escape probabilities that keep dropping with every mile.[Survival Rate if Hostile: 23%.][Recommendation: Assess situation before engaging.]Twenty minutes later, they pull up to Pier 47.The wa
Temporary Shelter
Mavis povThe motel is exactly what Mavis needs. It's cheap, anonymous, and far enough from the financial district that no one will think to look for him here.He pays cash at the front desk, using a name he invented on the spot. The clerk barely glances up from his phone, just slides a key across the counter with grease-stained fingers. Room 214. Second floor. The stairs creak under Mavis's weight as he climbs, each step sending fresh pain through his bruised ribs.The room smells like old cigarettes and industrial cleaner, attempting to hide decades of neglect. Stained carpet, Flowery bedspread that's seen better years. A television attacked to the dresser like someone might actually want to steal it. Water stains spread on the ceiling in patterns that look almost plannedMavis locks the door behind him, engaging both the deadbolt and the chain. He sets his gun on the nightstand within easy reach, then moves toward the bathroom.The fluorescent light flickers twice before staying
Corporate Predator
Mandy Moore PovThe office is silent except for the soft hum of air conditioning.Mandy Moore stands at the floor-to-ceiling windows of her corner office, forty stories above New Harbor's waterfront. The harbor spreads below like a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the city lights in fractured patterns. Morning sun bleeds orange and gold across the horizon, painting the water in colors that will disappear within the hour.She holds a crystal tumbler of sparkling water, ice cubes clinking softly as she shifts her weight. Her reflection stares back from the window—sharp features, high cheekbones, dark hair pulled into a severe bun that doesn't allow a single strand out of place. Her designer suit is charcoal gray, tailored perfectly to her frame.On the television mounted to the wall behind her desk, news footage plays on mute. Phoenix Tower burning, flames pouring from the top floor, emergency vehicles swarming like insects. The banner scrolling across the bottom reads: "MYSTERY EXPLOSIO
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