The morning after the explosion, the Imperial Crest stood like a wounded titan. Smoke still curled from the upper floors, and police lights painted the streets below in red and blue. News helicopters circled overhead, capturing the chaos.
Inside the tower, the boardroom was sealed under government order. Investigators moved through the corridors, scanning every room, every console, every trace of last night's events.
John watched from the top floor, hands buried in his pockets. His reflection in the glass looked older — harder. The company had survived the attack, but something inside him had not.
Behind him, the door opened quietly. Rita entered, her steps hesitant. Her face was pale, sleepless, haunted.
"They're saying Dalton triggered the explosion," she said softly.
John didn't turn. "They're wrong."
She hesitated. "But the logs…"
"The logs were rewritten," he said sharply. "The Benefactor wanted a scapegoat. Now he has one."
Rita lowered her eyes. "I shot him."
John finally turned, his gaze steady. "You reacted to a threat. You didn't kill him. They did."
Her voice cracked. "You don't believe that."
"I have to," he said quietly. "Because if I don't, then we've already lost."
She looked at him, guilt etched into every line of her face. "They'll start questioning everyone. The police are already asking for statements."
He nodded. "Let them. But you say nothing about The Benefactor, nothing about Sovereign, nothing about what really happened in that room."
She frowned. "Why not?"
"Because if the government realises who's pulling the strings, they'll shut us down before we have a chance to fight back."
Her throat tightened. "And what if they find something?"
"They won't," he said. "Not unless someone tells them where to look."
The unspoken warning hung between them. Rita nodded slowly.
"I'll make sure Morgan wipes the last traces from the system," she said.
John's eyes softened. "You did what you had to, Rita. Don't let guilt become another weapon they use against you."
He turned back to the window. "Dalton died trying to warn us. I won't let that be for nothing."
Hours later, in the tech division's lower vault, Morgan Jud worked frantically through a wall of screens. Streams of corrupted data flickered across his monitors.
Rita stood behind him, arms folded tightly.
"Anything?" she asked.
Morgan's eyes were bloodshot. "I recovered fragments from Dalton's terminal before the system fried. Most of it is junk, but there's something here — a name."
He zoomed in on a partially reconstructed message. The letters flickered, half-erased, but one line stood out.
'…Contact approved. Abdul Musa — primary channel confirmed…'
Rita frowned. "Abdul Musa?"
"Yeah," Morgan said. "Prince Abdul Musa. Oil magnate, shareholder in multiple offshore holdings, one of the richest men in the Middle East."
"What would a prince want with The Benefactor?"
Morgan leaned back. "Power. Influence. Control. Men like him don't move unless they're buying something bigger than money."
Rita's pulse quickened. "Or someone."
Morgan looked up sharply. "You think he's behind the takeover?"
"I think he's part of the network," she said. "Dalton must have found out and tried to warn us."
Morgan began typing again. "If that's true, then the conspiracy just went global. We're not fighting a corporation anymore. We're fighting a syndicate."
Across the ocean, in a marble hall lined with gold, Prince Abdul Musa poured tea into a crystal glass. His movements were slow, deliberate, regal.
The Benefactor sat opposite him, face shadowed by the room's dim light.
"I heard about your little fire," Abdul said, voice deep and accented. "Messy."
The Benefactor smiled faintly. "Necessary. Fire cleanses."
"And draws attention," Abdul replied. "Your Raymond survived. You promised me results."
"You'll have them," The Benefactor said. "Every empire begins with chaos. He's broken now. The next strike will finish him."
Abdul's dark eyes glittered. "I don't pay for promises."
The Benefactor leaned forward slightly. "You pay for control. And I've just given you the blueprint to a fallen kingdom."
The door opened silently. Prosper Mercy entered, dressed in a white suit that gleamed against the gold walls. His expression was calm but calculating.
"The markets are shifting," Prosper said. "The Crest's stocks are plummeting. If we move now, we can absorb their European shares through dummy investors. Within a week, they'll be ours in name."
Abdul smiled. "Excellent. But what about Raymond?"
The Benefactor's tone was smooth. "He'll play his part. They always do."
Prosper glanced at him. "And when he doesn't?"
The Benefactor stood, his presence filling the room like smoke. "Then we'll remind him that kings are made of ashes."
Back in the city, John sat alone in his office long after everyone had gone home. The skyline glowed faintly beyond the glass, distant and indifferent.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. The office was silent except for the hum of the ventilation system.
He hadn't told Rita, but he couldn't stop replaying Dalton's last words — The face you see in the mirror isn't always your own.
He set the glass down and walked toward Dalton's old office. The police had sealed it off earlier, but John keyed in his override code. The door unlocked with a soft click.
The room was untouched — the faint smell of smoke still clung to the air. Dalton's desk sat in the corner, papers scattered across it.
John ran his fingers along the surface, as if searching for something the investigators had missed. He crouched beside the drawer, pulling it open one by one. Most were empty.
Then he found it — a small false panel beneath the bottom drawer. He pried it open carefully. Inside was a single black flash drive. No label, no markings.
He held it up to the light.
"Dalton," he murmured, "what were you hiding?"
He slipped the drive into his pocket and left the office, the door shutting behind him with a quiet click.
Downstairs, in the server room, Morgan glanced up as Rita entered.
"You're still here," she said.
He smiled faintly. "I could say the same."
She hesitated. "There's something different about the system tonight. I keep feeling like someone's watching."
Morgan frowned. "Watching how?"
She pointed at the monitor. "Every time I access the internal feed, the cameras glitch for exactly three seconds. It's like someone's mirroring the system remotely."
He began typing rapidly. "If that's true, then…"
The lights flickered.
Rita's phone buzzed with a new message. She checked the screen — an unknown number again.
'Tell Raymond to stop digging. The flash drive is a key. But the lock is already open.'
Her breath caught. "Morgan," she said, "someone knows he found it."
Morgan's hands froze over the keyboard. "Then it's started."
That night, rain lashed against the city.
John sat in his apartment, the flash drive plugged into his laptop. The files inside were encrypted — heavy, military-grade. But one folder was accessible.
He opened it.
A single video file appeared, dated two weeks before Harrison West's death.
He pressed play.
Dalton's face appeared on the screen. He looked tired, eyes hollow.
"If you're seeing this, John, it means I didn't make it," Dalton said. "You were right about Sovereign. But you were wrong about who destroyed it. It wasn't Harrison. It wasn't even Michael. It was the one who built us all — The Benefactor."
John's jaw tightened.
Dalton continued. "There's more. A list of everyone tied to him — investors, politicians, military contractors. You'll find one name you never expected."
The video froze mid-frame. Static filled the screen.
John tried to restart it, but the file was corrupted instantly.
He leaned back slowly, the weight of truth settling like stone in his chest.
Whoever the Benefactor was, Dalton had died trying to reveal him. And now John held the one thing that could either destroy the enemy or destroy him first.
He looked out the window. The city lights blurred through the rain like fire.
The empire had survived the flames.
But the war for its soul had just begun.