The silence of the 88th floor was the only true sanctuary I had left.
After the brutal, high-pressure chaos of the War Room, the isolation was a welcome relief. Lu Wei had given me the tools, the access, and the motive to tear his world apart from the inside. Now, I would use my mind—my only true, uncompromised asset—to do just that.
I sat before the massive analytical workstation, the image of Chen Ming's charming, predatory smile burned into my memory. Lu Wei hadn't given me this assignment by chance; he had given it to me by calculation. He believed Chen Ming's "eagerness" and "weaknesses" made him the most likely point of failure. My job was to prove his hypothesis.
I pulled up the requested data: six months of secure communication logs, private email backups, and transaction details for Chen Ming and his known offshore legal teams. The sheer volume was staggering, but my mind, trained to find patterns in the decay of history, thrived on the complexity.
Where does the fracture begin?
I started with the financial trail. Chen Ming's public life was impeccable: lavish spending on high-end art, fast cars, and exclusive parties—all traceable, all justifiable as the necessary facade of a Tycoon's confidant. But I filtered the data, looking for transfers that fell outside the standard deviation of his lifestyle—transactions that were too clean, too small, or too frequent to be typical luxury spending.
After four hours of intense filtering, I found it: a series of eight transactions over four months, each exactly $49,000, routed through a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands called "Onyx Solutions." The transfers were listed internally as "minor legal consultation fees."
The amount was key. It was just shy of the $50,000 threshold that would trigger mandatory, high-level compliance reviews. The consistency was also suspect. Why the identical amount? Why the identical routing?
I cross-referenced Onyx Solutions with known entities tied to the Consortium of the Shadow Tide. Nothing overt appeared. The shell company was too clean, too new.
I then went for the communication logs, cross-referencing all mentions of "Onyx," "Solution," or "Consultation" in Chen Ming's email and secure messages.
I found dozens of innocuous internal memos regarding "consultation fees," but one detail stood out: a secure chat exchange between Chen Ming and his primary offshore lawyer, mentioning a "consultation" that required him to personally authorize the transfer—a procedure usually handled by accounting for amounts that small.
The motive was forming: Chen Ming wasn't betraying Lu Global for a fortune; he was betraying it through a series of small, steady payments that ensured his financial invulnerability, routed through a shell only he controlled. The ultimate flaw: self-preservation veiled as aggressive ambition.
I was building a flowchart detailing the Onyx Solutions money trail when the light in the massive apartment dimmed slightly. I glanced up, annoyed by the interruption.
Lu Wei stood by the private lift, his jacket removed, his white shirt meticulously buttoned, his tie loosened just enough to suggest the end of a long, grueling day. It was the first time I had seen him look less than completely armored.
He walked over to the windows, his gaze fixed on the lights of the city. He wasn't here for a professional report.
"It is 2 AM," he stated, his voice a low, heavy texture. "You haven't left this floor."
"The financial trail is complicated, but clear," I replied, refusing to look away from the screens. "Chen Ming is operating a shell company called 'Onyx Solutions' for small, frequent transactions below the compliance review threshold. I believe this is the steady flow of payment from the Consortium, disguised as legal fees."
"Onyx," Lu Wei repeated, the name sounding sharp on his tongue. He finally turned to face me. "Why small, frequent payments? The Consortium rewards risk handsomely."
"Because he's not an ideological traitor, Lu Wei; he's a self-preservationist," I explained, leaning back, allowing myself a small, intellectual satisfaction. "If he takes a billion-dollar payout, his life changes immediately, drawing scrutiny. Small, steady payments keep him under the radar and make him feel utterly necessary to the operation. He's paying for his continued existence outside the law."
Lu Wei walked closer to the desk, his presence overwhelming the space. He wasn't looking at the data; he was looking at me, analyzing my focus, my lack of sleep, my single-minded drive.
"You analyze betrayal with frightening accuracy, Xu Ling," he observed, his voice too quiet. "It's almost as if you were preparing for it your entire life."
The personal probe was a deliberate intrusion. I felt the sharp ache of my unresolved trauma—the political coldness, the rejection of my innocence—all bubbling to the surface.
"I analyze logic, Lu Wei," I snapped, meeting his gaze, unwilling to surrender any ground. "Betrayal is merely a flawed algorithm. You were looking for a spectacular betrayal; I found a slow, calculated leak. Which one is more frightening?"
Lu Wei didn't reply to the challenge. Instead, he walked past the desk and into the kitchen area—a pristine space of stainless steel and black granite. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two identical, sealed glass containers.
"I assume you have not eaten the tasteless gourmet catering," he said, placing one container on the counter near me.
I glanced at the silver tray I had ignored since yesterday. "I only eat when the data is inconclusive. Food interferes with focus."
He set the other container down and pulled out a bottle of purified water. He opened his container. It wasn't the fancy catering. It was a simple, yet intensely aromatic spicy noodle dish, prepared with care.
"I had my personal chef prepare this," Lu Wei confessed, his voice almost apologetic—an astonishing breach of his own cold protocol. "He is required to maintain the highest quality and nutritional value. I also know you have an exceptionally refined palate—a flaw you share with my own mother. Do not insult the quality of the analysis by allowing your physical systems to fail."
I stared at the food. The smell alone was an overwhelming assault on my senses. It was rich, complex, clearly prepared with expertise. It was the exact kind of sophisticated, comforting meal I craved but could never master—the very symbol of my domestic flaw.
"You are leveraging my biological weakness against me," I said, a faint tremor in my voice.
Lu Wei looked up from his noodles, a single, dark brow raised. "I am acknowledging your operational requirements. You need fuel. You need heat. Eat it. If you are going to solve the biggest security failure in Lu Global history, you must be optimized."
He was right. He had found the only way to subordinate my will without threatening my life or my property: through the sheer, logical necessity of my physical body. He wasn't offering kindness; he was demanding optimization.
I pulled the container toward me. The warmth was immediate and intoxicating. The first bite was complex, perfect—a genuine delight that made my tired brain momentarily sing.
I looked up at Lu Wei, who was eating his own portion with quiet, intense focus. For the first time, the 88th floor felt less like a prison and more like a high-altitude, shared space of intellectual combat and unexpected, logical care.
"Thank you," I admitted, the words tasting strange and foreign on my tongue.
"Finish the report on Onyx Solutions by morning," he replied, already back to business. "We move on the traitor at dawn."