The city was alive, but only in the way predators are alive—silent, sharp, and waiting to pounce. From the top floor of the Elysium Tower, it looked like an ocean of lights and shadows. Down there, people thought they were free. Up here, I knew better.
I leaned against the glass wall of my office, the skyline stretching endlessly in every direction. The streets pulsed with restless energy, but in this room, silence reigned. The kind of silence money buys. The kind of silence that hides secrets
They called me by many names in the underground—The Broker, The Phantom, The Man Upstairs—but never my real one. In the daylight, another man sat in my chair, smiling for the cameras, taking credit for decisions he didn't make. He was the mask. I was the face no one saw.
I flicked the ash from my cigar into the crystal tray. The smoke curled upward, catching the dim amber light. Every puff reminded me of the rules—never be seen, never be predictable, never trust a man who talks too much.
A knock at the door broke the quiet. One of my security men stepped in, his suit sharp but his eyes sharper.
"Sir," he said, "it's him."
"Bring him in."
Moments later, a man in a wrinkled gray suit entered, the kind of suit bought in desperation, not style. He was sweating under the weight of this building's air.
"You're late," I said without looking at him.
"Traffic," he mumbled.
I turned, letting him see my face—not fully, just enough to remind him who he was talking to. "There's no traffic at midnight," I said.
He swallowed hard and placed a small folder on my desk. It was thin. Too thin. I knew before opening it that I wouldn't like what I saw.
"This is all?" I asked.
"Y-Yes. The rest will take time. They're covering their tracks."
"Then uncover them."
His eyes darted to the window behind me, as if the view could save him. I stepped closer until I was a shadow in his vision.
"Do you know why I'm still alive in this city?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"Because I don't wait. And I don't forgive delays. Bring me what I asked for, or I'll find someone who can. And if that happens…" I let the silence finish the sentence for me.
He nodded quickly and left.
I turned back to the skyline. Somewhere out there, someone was making moves they shouldn't. They thought the ghost running Elysium Tower didn't notice. They were wrong.
The phone on my desk rang once. Only once—that was the signal. I picked it up.
"They know," a voice said, low and urgent.
My fingers tightened around the receiver. "Who?"
"Doesn't matter. It's enough to say… the clock is running."
The line went dead.
For a moment, I stood there, listening to the hum of the city. Then I walked to the cabinet in the corner, opened the false panel, and pulled out the steel case. Inside was a black ledger, handwritten, every page more dangerous than the last.
If anyone got their hands on this, the game would be over.
I slipped the ledger into my briefcase and lit another cigar. Whatever storm was coming, I'd meet it head-on.
But as I turned toward the window again, I saw it—a flicker in the glass reflection. A figure, far below on the street, standing perfectly still, looking up.
And though I was fi
fty stories above, I could feel it.
They were looking at me.