The world was still trying to understand how an empire could function without its king.
Three weeks had passed since John Raymond's supposed death, yet The Imperial Crest hadn't fallen. It was weaker, yes — but still breathing. Rita kept the company afloat with quiet authority, while Morgan worked behind the scenes to guard their digital walls.
But in the shadows, the real war had already begun.
At 2:17 a.m., inside The Crest's server chamber, Morgan sat before five glowing screens. The hum of machines filled the air. Data flowed across the monitors in rapid streams, each one representing a firewall, a countermeasure, or a trap.
He typed in a new command. A red alert blinked instantly.
"Come on," he muttered. "Show me where you're hiding."
The worm was clever — invisible to normal systems, buried under legitimate codes. But Morgan wasn't just anyone. He had written half of The Crest's encryption himself.
Lines of text flashed, then froze. A single signature appeared on-screen.
Origin: Mart-Dove Global / Proxy: London Exchange Node
Morgan's pulse quickened. Prosper Mercy.
He activated a mirror trace. As the connection bounced back across the ocean, a second signal emerged — another hand inside the network, manipulating Prosper's commands remotely. The access pattern wasn't Mercy's. It was too refined.
It was The Benefactor's.
Morgan's eyes widened. "He's in the system."
He reached for the secure comm. "Rita, wake up. We've got a problem."
Rita answered on the first ring, her voice groggy but alert. "Morgan?"
"The Benefactor just broke into our AI net. He's not stealing data — he's erasing it."
Rita sat up immediately. "How bad?"
"Critical," he said. "If I can't lock him out in the next ten minutes, he'll wipe our operational servers completely. Payroll, contracts, employee records — gone."
She jumped out of bed, throwing on her coat. "I'm coming down."
"Don't," Morgan said. "He's using internal security feeds. If he sees you moving through the building, he'll know we're onto him. Stay where you are."
"Morgan…"
"I've got this," he said. "If I don't make it, tell him I tried."
Then he cut the line.
Down in the server vault, Morgan's fingers blurred across the keyboard. Sweat rolled down his temple.
"Come on," he whispered. "You want a war, you picked the wrong castle."
The lights flickered as the virus fought back. Every time he isolated a line of code, it replicated itself elsewhere — like smoke reforming after being scattered.
Suddenly, the screens went black.
A voice echoed from the system speakers. Calm, deep, deliberate.
"Mr. Jud," The Benefactor said. "You're talented. A shame you're on the wrong side."
Morgan froze. "You must be running out of pawns if you're speaking to me directly."
The voice chuckled softly. "Not at all. I'm simply extending mercy."
"Mercy doesn't erase people," Morgan snapped.
"No," The Benefactor replied. "But it perfects them."
The screens flared back to life. The Crest's core firewall dissolved. A cascade of alerts flooded the system. Morgan swore under his breath and slammed an emergency override.
"John, if you're watching," he muttered, "now would be a good time to haunt someone."
He launched the Lionheart failsafe — John's secret digital counterstrike buried deep beneath the network.
A single pulse rippled through the data streams, then split into thousands of threads. The AI worm froze.
For a moment, silence.
Then, one by one, the corrupted files began restoring themselves.
The Benefactor's voice faded, calm to the end. "Impressive. But you can't stop what you don't understand."
The screens went dark again.
Morgan leaned back, exhaling. "We'll see about that."
At dawn, Rita arrived at the tower. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with purpose.
Morgan met her in the control room, exhausted but alive.
"You stopped him," she said.
"Temporarily," he replied. "Lionheart saved us this time. But that worm wasn't just sabotage — it was a probe. He was testing how deep John's backup systems go."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because he wants to find John," Morgan said. "He knows the ghost is real."
Rita fell silent. For days, she had lived with the secret — the knowledge that John was alive somewhere in the dark, waging war from the shadows. She hadn't told anyone, not even Morgan, where he was hiding.
But now, she wasn't sure how long she could keep it buried.
Across the ocean, in a marble villa overlooking the desert, Abdul Musa met with Prosper Mercy in a private lounge. The air was tense.
"You told me the Crest was finished," Musa said, voice low and controlled.
"It was," Prosper replied. "Until Raymond's ghost started killing our accounts."
Musa's gaze hardened. "Ghosts don't hack networks, Mercy."
"Then tell that to your missing funds," Prosper snapped. "He's dismantling your empire, piece by piece."
Before Musa could respond, a phone buzzed on the table. Prosper picked it up. The caller ID was hidden.
He answered. "Yes?"
The Benefactor's voice drifted through. "Gentlemen. I see the lion still roars."
Prosper swallowed. "He's alive, isn't he?"
The Benefactor ignored the question. "This changes nothing. Musa, proceed with the Dubai summit. Prosper, tighten your control over The Crest's board. And when Raymond resurfaces…"
The line crackled with static.
"…bring me his ghost."
That evening, Rita sat alone in her office. The building was nearly empty. Outside, the city glowed like an ocean of lights — beautiful, fragile, temporary.
She stared at her phone, her fingers hesitating over the secure line Morgan had installed. It connected directly to John's off-grid network.
She finally tapped the code. The line buzzed once, then connected.
No greeting. Just silence.
"John," she whispered. "You shouldn't be listening right now."
His voice came through, faint but steady. "You think I could sleep while they're still moving?"
Her throat tightened. "You need to rest. Morgan barely stopped them."
"I know," he said. "I saw the breach. He did well."
"John," she said softly, "you can't keep doing this from the shadows forever. You're one man."
"I was one man when I rebuilt The Crest," he replied. "And one man, when I lost it."
Silence lingered.
Then she asked, "How long have you been watching?"
"Long enough to know Prosper's running out of patience," he said. "And that The Benefactor's preparing for something bigger."
Her voice trembled. "What is he after?"
John's tone shifted — low, grim. "Control. Not just of The Crest, but of every corporation that grew from Sovereign's ashes. He's building an empire of ghosts."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," John said, "that he isn't just one man."
Before she could speak, the line went dead.
Rita sat frozen, the words echoing in her mind. He isn't just one man.
She stared out the window at the skyline, the reflection of her own face blurring in the glass.
Behind her, the elevator chimed softly. She turned, startled.
A tall figure stepped out — dark coat, collar raised. For a heartbeat, she thought she was hallucinating.
Then he spoke.
"Did you miss me?"
Her breath caught. "John…"
He gave a faint smile. "Let's bring our empire back."
She didn't move, afraid he might vanish if she blinked.
The man the world had buried stood before her again — alive, changed, dangerous.
And as the city lights flickered across his face, she realised something else.
The ghost had come home.