Morning came quietly, but The Imperial Crest was anything but calm.
The elevators hummed nonstop. Executives whispered in corners, glancing over their shoulders. Files disappeared, accounts were frozen, and a silence thicker than fear spread across every floor.
No one could explain it.
Every digital lock, every access card, every internal system had been recalibrated overnight. Security cameras showed no intruder, yet the network logs bore one undeniable truth.
Someone was back inside The Crest.
Prosper Mercy stood in his London office, staring at the encrypted report flashing across his screen. His hands trembled slightly, though his expression remained smooth.
"Impossible," he muttered. "We shut down every channel after the breach."
A voice spoke behind him. Calm. Cold. Controlled.
"The word impossible lost meaning the day you underestimated John Raymond."
Prosper turned sharply. The Benefactor stood near the window, his form cloaked in shadow: no entourage, no guards, just presence — the kind that filled the room like smoke.
Prosper swallowed. "I wasn't aware you were in London."
The Benefactor ignored him. "Do you know what fear does to a man like Musa?"
Prosper hesitated. "It makes him cautious."
"It makes him sloppy," The Benefactor corrected. "He's already begun dismantling his own operations, deleting files, moving funds. That panic will spread."
"Then let it," Prosper said. "He's the one who let the ghost slip through our system."
The Benefactor turned, his gaze sharp. "And you let him back into The Crest."
Prosper took a step back. "We're dealing with a phantom. He's not human anymore."
"On the contrary," The Benefactor said softly, "he's more human than you'll ever be. That's why he wins."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. "Find him, Prosper. Before his silence becomes the sound that buries us all."
Then he was gone — as though he had never been there at all.
At The Crest, Morgan sat in the server control room, staring at a frozen screen. A small icon blinked at the corner of the display — a lion's head.
He leaned forward. "You've got to be kidding me."
He tapped the console, opening the encrypted channel.
A video feed appeared — grainy, dark, shot from an undisclosed location.
John Raymond stood there.
Alive.
"Morgan," John said. "You're overdue for a meeting."
Morgan's mouth fell open. "You're…"
"Breathing," John interrupted. "Barely. Meet me where we began."
The feed cut.
Morgan didn't hesitate. He grabbed his coat and bolted.
The basement of The Imperial Crest was a relic of its early days — cold concrete walls, old blueprints stacked in forgotten cabinets, the hum of pipes overhead. It was where John had once designed the prototype for Crest's automation line.
Now, it was his war room.
Morgan entered quietly. The air smelled of steel and dust.
Then he saw him.
John stood by the central table, a black shirt rolled up to his elbows, scars visible across his forearms. His once-polished demeanour had been replaced by something harder, colder.
Morgan exhaled, half in disbelief. "You look like hell."
John smiled faintly. "Good. Then they'll believe I've been there."
Morgan approached slowly. "You know the world thinks you're dead."
"That's the idea."
They stared at each other — two men bound by loyalty and a war no one else could see.
Morgan finally spoke. "You saved the company again. That Lionheart patch stopped the worm."
John nodded. "That wasn't an attack. It was a scan. He was testing how much of The Crest he could reach."
"Who?" Morgan asked.
"The Benefactor," John said quietly. "But he's not what you think."
Morgan frowned. "Then what is he?"
John's gaze was fixed on the glowing hologram projected over the table — The Crest's corporate structure. Thousands of nodes, each representing a subsidiary or partner company, all linked in intricate patterns.
He zoomed in on one of them — a small, obscure subsidiary buried deep under accounting layers.
"Look at this," he said. "The Benefactor's transactions start here. A dummy firm named Vortex Analytics."
Morgan scanned the data. "That's one of ours."
"Exactly," John said. "He's not attacking from the outside. He's using The Crest's own framework against itself."
Morgan's voice dropped. "So he's inside."
John met his eyes. "He always has been."
Meanwhile, Rita was in a meeting with the remaining board members. The room was thick with tension. Prosper Mercy appeared on the screen, broadcasting remotely.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "we need stability. Without it, we lose investor confidence. I propose we liquidate all dormant subsidiaries until a new chairman is appointed."
Rita's jaw tightened. "That includes departments responsible for employee welfare. You're cutting people to cover your own trail."
Prosper's smile was polite but venomous. "Don't let sentiment cloud judgment. The market rewards decisiveness."
She leaned forward. "You mean obedience."
Prosper's expression hardened. "You forget your place, Miss Morgan."
"No," she said evenly. "You forget whose empire this is."
Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. A message flashed across the screen. One word.
"Basement."
Her heartbeat quickened. She stood abruptly. "Excuse me."
Prosper's voice echoed behind her as she left. "You walk away from this meeting, you walk away from The Crest."
She didn't answer.
When she entered the basement, the sight stopped her cold.
John Raymond stood at the far end of the room, half-shadowed by the flickering lights. Morgan stood beside him, silent, as if unsure whether to speak or salute.
Rita froze. Her voice barely came out. "You're really here."
John turned slowly. "I couldn't stay hidden forever."
She walked closer, still trying to breathe. "You look…"
"Alive?" he finished, his tone almost dry.
She nodded wordlessly. Then, without warning, she reached forward and struck his chest with her palm — not hard, but enough to make him flinch.
"That's for letting me think you were dead."
He caught her hand gently. "I needed them to believe it too."
Her eyes filled. "Do you even know what that did to us?"
He released her hand, his voice low. "If it kept you safe, then it was worth it."
Morgan cleared his throat softly. "If we're done with the emotional reunion, we've got a bigger problem."
John's expression darkened again. "Show her."
Morgan projected the hologram onto the wall. The Crest's map glowed, vast and complex. At its centre pulsed the same logo that haunted them all—the crest symbol, subtly reshaped into a serpent.
Rita frowned. "What is this?"
John stepped forward. "This is where The Benefactor hides. His influence isn't from the outside world. It's built into The Crest's infrastructure — embedded from the very beginning."
She shook her head. "That's impossible. You built this company."
"I built the structure," John said. "But I wasn't the one who funded its foundation."
Morgan blinked. "You mean the original investors?"
John nodded slowly. "The Benefactor isn't just a rival. He's one of The Crest's founders. He's been waiting for this moment since the day we broke ground."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Rita stared at him. "Then who is he?"
John met her gaze. "I don't know yet. But I will."
Back in London, Prosper Mercy poured himself another drink, staring out over the city. His phone buzzed.
He answered without looking. "Yes?"
The Benefactor's voice was cold. "You're running out of moves, Prosper."
"I'm handling it," he replied, his tone trembling slightly.
"No," the voice said. "He's handling you."
Prosper's hand froze around the glass. "You can't scare me."
The Benefactor chuckled softly. "Then perhaps this will."
A new message appeared on Prosper's tablet — a security feed, live from The Crest basement.
John Raymond. Rita. Morgan. Altogether.
Prosper's drink slipped from his hand and shattered.
The Benefactor's voice grew almost amused. "Tell me, Prosper — how do you kill a man who's already a legend?"
In the basement, John turned back to his allies.
"They'll come for us soon," he said. "Prosper, Musa, the Benefactor — all of them."
Rita straightened. "Then we fight."
Morgan nodded. "Together this time."
John allowed himself the faintest smile. "Good. Because the lion's done hiding."
Outside, lightning cracked over the city skyline as if the heavens themselves echoed the declaration.
For the first time since his fall, John Raymond stood in the heart of his empire again — not as a ghost, but as a man ready to reclaim his throne.