The rain had not stopped since dawn.
Drops streaked the tall glass of Luminar Tower, tracing restless lines that mirrored every red number on the market screen.
Inside, the air smelled of coffee and fear.
Gu Ze Yan arrived before anyone else, jacket slung over one arm, face expressionless. The quiet elevator ride felt endless. When the doors opened, even the receptionist lowered her eyes instead of greeting him.
Shen Qiao met him halfway down the corridor, tablet in hand.
"The Securities Bureau has sent an official request," she said. "Clarification on falsified vendor reports. They're calling it a routine review."
Her tone made the word routine sound like a lie.
Ze Yan adjusted his cuffs. "Prepare every ledger since Atlas began. Get Legal and PR upstairs in fifteen minutes."
"They're already awake," she muttered. "So is the board."
---
9 a.m. – The Leak
Chen Rui burst in, half-running, half-tripping over his own feet. "Boss — you'll want to see this."
He shoved a tablet onto the desk. A headline from a respected financial blog blazed across the screen:
> Exclusive: Former Employee Exposes Luminar's Forged Contracts
Below, images filled the page — scanned vendor lists, signatures, company seals, invoice trails. The article accused Luminar of inflating research costs and creating shell suppliers.
The author called himself A Former Luminar Employee Seeking Justice.
Within minutes, the post flooded WeChat investor circles. By the time Ze Yan scrolled to the bottom, hundreds of comments had already appeared.
> If this is true, Luminar's finished.
Too quiet from Gu Ze Yan. Guilty silence.
Atlas = fraud?
The stock chart refreshed again.
Down another 5 percent.
Shen Qiao's knuckles whitened around her tablet. "They look internal. Whoever did this knew our format."
"Fake or not, it's poison," Chen Rui said. "We're trending on investor boards, not gossip sites."
Ze Yan's eyes moved slowly over the screenshots — the margins, the font, the faint watermark shimmering near the logo. Too perfect.
Too deliberate.
"Call the board," he said.
---
The Emergency Meeting
By mid-morning the directors filled the conference room, their voices colliding like static.
"If these are genuine, we're criminally liable."
"The Bureau will freeze accounts."
"We must apologize — at least appear cooperative!"
"Gu, you have to reassure the market!"
Ze Yan sat at the head of the table, spine straight, hands folded.
"You want me to apologize for a crime that doesn't exist?" he asked quietly.
"Perception is reality," an older man shot back.
"Then our job," Ze Yan said, "is to change perception — not surrender to it."
The room fell silent, uneasy.
He looked to Shen Qiao. "Trace every origin of the upload. I want confirmation before noon."
Then, to PR: "No statements until we verify. We speak once, and correctly."
When the meeting adjourned, the air felt heavier than when it began.
---
Across the river, sunlight touched the marble edges of a villa hidden behind ivy walls.
Jiang Yi Rong sat at a glass table, reading the same headline. Her assistant stood nearby, phone to ear.
"It's spreading, Miss Jiang. Ten fund circles, three broker groups, and now the journalists are chasing the Bureau."
Yi Rong stirred her tea once, slow, then smiled.
"Markets are like people. They believe what frightens them first."
She set the cup down, voice calm.
"Arrange a lunch with Director Liu from Luminar's board tomorrow. Tell him a mutual friend wishes to discuss investor confidence."
The assistant hesitated. "You think he'll come?"
"He's already sweating through his suit," she said. "They all are."
---
At Luminar
Afternoon light poured through the wide windows, washing the PR floor in sterile brightness. Dozens of staff clustered around printers, phones pressed to ears, voices rising.
Shen Qiao's sharp tone cut through the noise. "None of these documents exist in our archives. But the structure matches our old vendor template — somebody knew what they were imitating."
Qing Yun stood quietly near the doorway, there to deliver a restored blueprint portfolio. She hesitated when she saw the scattered pages.
A single sheet had slid toward the edge of the table. Instinctively, she caught it.
Her thumb brushed the paper surface.
Smooth — too smooth.
Luminar's official stock always felt faintly textured from the embedded fiber watermark. This one was flat, almost waxy.
She held it up, angling it toward the light.
The watermark shimmered, but not the way she remembered.
A faint lattice pattern crossed the logo — horizontal fibers, not vertical.
Her brows knit slightly.
"Miss Lin?" Shen Qiao called.
Qing Yun blinked, realizing she'd been staring. "Sorry. Wrong place, wrong time."
She placed the page back carefully, fingertips lingering for half a second longer than necessary, then turned to leave.
Behind her, the printers kept screaming.
---
By six o'clock, the corridors thinned. Only the crisis team remained. Coffee cups multiplied; tempers shortened.
A junior manager whispered near the door, "The board wants to suspend the demo."
Someone else added, "There's talk of a temporary CEO."
Chen Rui carried that rumor to Ze Yan like a reluctant messenger.
"Boss… they're saying maybe you should take a step back until this clears."
Ze Yan didn't look up from the monitor.
"Tell them they can sell my chair before they sell my name."
"Copy that," Chen Rui said, attempting a grin that didn't hold.
Shen Qiao entered next, voice lower. "We've verified none of those vendor codes exist in the Bureau registry. But the Bureau still insists we submit full ledgers within seventy-two hours."
Ze Yan leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "Then we give them everything. Transparency will bury lies faster than panic."
He rubbed his temple, the faint shadow of fatigue cutting through his precision.
Outside, the city's lights began to flicker on, one building after another. From this high up, even disaster looked distant.
---
Late Night
The office finally fell quiet.
Shen Qiao left, Chen Rui asleep on the couch, phone still buzzing.
Ze Yan sat alone at the long table, sleeves rolled, tie forgotten. The falsified contracts lay spread before him like corpses — identical, soulless, perfect copies of a life he built from nothing.
He lit a cigarette, the first in five years. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, slow and accusing.
He'd built Luminar to be incorruptible — a company of precision, proof, and truth. Now he was being buried by the very perfection he taught others to chase.
The phone on his desk buzzed once.
Unknown number.
He almost ignored it.
> Evidence can destroy or save. Would you like to talk?
Ze Yan's pulse stilled for a heartbeat.
The number was unfamiliar, yet something in it tugged at memory — an old country code, a pattern he'd once known.
He tapped the screen. Another message appeared:
> Soon.
He stared at it for a long time before setting the phone facedown, the blue light still pulsing beneath his hand.
---
Across the River
Yi Rong stood by her window, city lights shimmering against the glass. She held her phone loosely, wine swirling in the other hand.
"Delivery confirmed," her assistant's voice crackled through the speaker.
Yi Rong smiled, eyes soft, almost affectionate.
"Good. Let him think the ground beneath him is cracking. Tomorrow, the savior arrives."
She ended the call, gaze drifting to the rain sliding down the glass. Her reflection smiled back — perfect, patient, victorious.