The flight back to the United States was quiet. Outside the jet window, the night stretched endlessly, stars scattered like fragments of glass. Inside, John sat alone, reviewing the encrypted files they had stolen from Geneva.
Every name, every date, every account led back to the same origin. Lionwell Capital. The shell company that had once been a small subsidiary of The Crest was now the spine of the Benefactor's empire.
Rita approached, holding two cups of coffee. Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion.
"You have not slept," she said.
John looked up. "I will sleep when this is finished."
She set the cup beside him. "You have been saying that for years."
He gave a faint smile. "Then it has been a long night."
Morgan appeared from the rear cabin, tablet in hand. "I decrypted another layer of the Lionwell data. You need to see this."
John straightened. "Show me."
Morgan turned the screen toward him. "Half of Lionwell's funding came from The Crest's charitable foundation. The other half came from offshore accounts linked to your father's early investors."
Rita frowned. "So the Benefactor used your father's goodwill to build his own power."
John's gaze darkened. "He used everything my father built. Every ounce of trust, every employee who believed in the vision. He turned it into a weapon."
He leaned back in his seat. "When we land, we start cutting through the foundation. If the Benefactor's roots are buried there, we pull them out."
At The Imperial Crest headquarters, the board was in turmoil.
Prosper Mercy had returned unexpectedly, storming into the meeting room with his entourage. The executives looked uneasy.
"We cannot allow instability to continue," Prosper announced. "Until a permanent replacement is confirmed, I will act as interim chairman. We need order."
Ms Patel stood. "You do not have that authority."
Prosper's smile was tight. "Then perhaps you should read the revised bylaws. They were updated last quarter, under your watch."
He tossed a document onto the table. The signatures were all genuine.
Rita entered mid-discussion, calm but firm. "Those bylaws were not approved by the full board. You forged this."
Prosper turned to her slowly. "You are brave to say that aloud."
"I am right to say it aloud," she replied.
A murmur spread through the room.
Prosper's eyes narrowed. "Be careful, Miss Morgan. The walls in this building remember everything."
Before she could respond, her phone vibrated. She glanced down, reading a message from an encrypted channel. It was from Morgan.
"He is inside the building."
Her pulse quickened. She turned to the board. "This meeting is adjourned."
Prosper smirked. "You do not get to decide that."
She met his gaze. "I just did."
Then she walked out without another word.
In the lower level of The Crest, the air was still and cold. John moved through the corridor with measured steps, avoiding security cameras that Morgan had looped.
He entered the restricted storage vault, the one that housed the earliest blueprints of the company. Every document was sealed in glass cases. The light reflected faintly on his face as he scanned the walls.
He stopped at a section marked The Foundation Era.
There, among the files, was a photograph. His father, Harold Raymond, was shaking hands with a man whose face was half-hidden by the angle. The man wore a ring engraved with the symbol John had seen in the Geneva files — the House of Shadows emblem.
He stared at the photo for a long time. Then he whispered to himself, "So it was you."
Behind him, the door clicked.
He turned.
Rita stepped inside quietly. "I told Morgan you would come here."
John said nothing.
She looked around at the relics of The Crest's birth. "It is strange, standing here. This is where it all began, and where it started to rot."
He nodded. "My father thought he was building a legacy. The Benefactor turned it into a leash."
Rita stepped closer. "Then you cut the leash. End this."
John met her eyes. "That is what I intend to do."
Meanwhile, in London, the Benefactor watched the news feed on his private screen. Prosper Mercy's attempt to seize control of The Crest had gone public. The markets trembled.
His aide entered, hesitant. "Sir, Raymond is back in the United States. Reports suggest he is preparing a full audit of The Crest Foundation."
The Benefactor's gaze remained fixed on the screen. "Let him dig. Every truth he finds will only lead him deeper into my design."
"Shall we intervene?"
The Benefactor shook his head. "Not yet. The lion needs to roar before it can be silenced."
He turned off the screen. "But send word to Musa. Tell him it is time to clean the bloodlines."
That evening, John sat in his office for the first time since his supposed death. The city stretched beneath him, glowing with artificial light. He felt the weight of the past pressing against his chest — every betrayal, every lie, every shadow his father never saw.
Morgan entered quietly. "You asked to see me."
John nodded. "How much progress on the audit?"
"Half complete," Morgan said. "Once we release it, the Benefactor's entire financial web will be exposed."
"Good," John said. "Schedule a press release for tomorrow morning."
Morgan hesitated. "Are you sure? That will make you a target again."
John gave a thin smile. "I have been a target since the day I took my father's seat."
Rita entered moments later. "The board is fracturing. Prosper's hold is slipping. But he will not back down easily."
"He will not have to," John said quietly. "He will be forced out."
He turned to the window again. "When we expose the Benefactor, Prosper falls with him. Every piece they built collapses."
Rita looked at him. "And then what happens to you?"
John's gaze remained fixed on the skyline. "Then I rebuild what my father meant The Crest to be."
Silence followed, heavy but hopeful.
Far away, in a hidden villa along the Mediterranean coast, Prosper Mercy stood before the Benefactor.
"You used me," Prosper said, voice shaking. "You said this was about control, about rebuilding power. But you wanted him alive. You wanted Raymond to find you."
The Benefactor's tone was almost gentle. "And he has."
Prosper stepped back. "You planned this."
"Every step," the Benefactor replied.
"Why?"
"Because sometimes," the Benefactor said softly, "a man must destroy his own creation to give it new life."
He turned away, his silhouette framed against the sea. "Now the lion believes he hunts. Let him come. The house of shadows is waiting."
In his office, John placed the final file into the secure case.
Rita and Morgan stood beside him.
"Tomorrow," he said, "everything changes."
Rita asked quietly, "For better or worse?"
John looked at her, his expression unreadable. "That depends on who survives."
Outside, the rain began again, falling softly against the glass. The city was holding its breath, unaware that by sunrise, the empire that had shaped it for decades would stand on the edge of revelation and ruin.