Floor Thirteen was built like a fortress. Reinforced walls. Electromagnetic locks. Heat sensors embedded behind the paint. Two layers of bulletproof glass separated the guard station from the holding corridor. No windows. No open vents. No access to any network except one internal line monitored from the command centre.
It was the only place inside The Crest designed for a man like the Benefactor.
And still, the room felt too small for him.
The dim ceiling lights flickered for a moment before stabilising. The Benefactor lay on the padded reclining chair in the centre of the cell, unconscious, his wrists locked to the restraints that monitored every twitch and heartbeat.
For the last hour he had not moved.
Until now.
A faint tremor ran through his fingers. His eyelids fluttered. His breathing shifted from calm to controlled, as if he were adjusting himself to the room around him.
Then his eyes opened.
There was no confusion. No panic. No attempt to pull at the restraints. Just a slow, quiet assessment of the room. He turned his head slightly, testing his range of motion, watching how the sensors reacted. He inhaled deeply, recognising the subtle chemical scent in the air.
He smiled.
"Reinforced polymer. Harold's design. I wondered when his son would remember this level existed."
He looked toward the upper corner of the room where a tiny camera silently observed him.
"I know you can hear me," he said softly. "But I doubt John is the one watching."
He closed his eyes, listening.
The hum of the ventilation system.
The vibration of the cooling units behind the wall.
The distant pulse of power lines.
He was mapping the room, sensing its weaknesses without moving an inch.
Then his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Harold, your boy brought me home."
He let out a quiet laugh.
"It begins."
The guard behind the glass flinched.
The Benefactor did not notice or did not care. He kept speaking calmly, as if delivering a sermon only the walls could understand.
"Your son chose war. Good. A king must bleed before he wears the crown."
He leaned his head back, eyes half closed.
"And he will bleed. They will make sure of it."
He fell silent.
But his eyes gleamed with something ancient and terrible.
Beneath the quiet of Floor Thirteen, the real threat had awakened.
On Floor Twenty One, the atmosphere was entirely different.
John stood inside the primary conference chamber, staring at a holographic projection of The Crest's internal network map. Red blinking markers pulsed across several floors, showing communication delays, suspicious data reroutes, and unusual movement among staff.
Morgan rushed in, carrying a tablet loaded with fresh scans.
"Boss, I finished the first sweep. Cavanaugh's access trail was only one part of the breach. Someone else was feeding him data. Someone cleaner. Smarter. And someone who erased their footprints the moment we landed."
John's expression hardened. "Someone inside this building helped him prepare the takeover."
Rita entered behind Morgan, her clothes fresh but her energy sharp and restless. She handed John a file.
"This was waiting at your office door. No signature. No sender. No cameras caught who delivered it."
John opened the file. Inside was a single photograph.
A picture of the Benefactor standing beside Harold Raymond.
John's entire body went still.
Rita frowned. "He lied. He said your father rejected him."
Morgan looked shocked. "John, do you think this was before the fallout. Before Harold discovered who he really was."
John did not answer.
The photograph told two stories.
Harold's smile was genuine.
The Benefactor's smile was not.
Rita leaned closer. "This is either truth or manipulation. Either way, someone wants you shaken."
John placed the photo on the table. "Then they chose the wrong strategy."
Rita studied his face. "John, this building is shifting under your feet. Someone is watching your every step. We have to get ahead of this."
John nodded slowly. "We will."
Morgan cleared his throat. "About the internal leak. The Breach Path does not match Cavanaugh's behaviour pattern. Someone else passed the Benefactor updates from inside The Crest. Someone who knew our systems better than Operations."
Rita glanced at Morgan. "Meaning what. Someone from Intelligence."
Morgan nodded. "Or someone with direct access to Harold's old networks."
John knew exactly what that meant.
Not just any traitor.
A strategist.
A ghost inside the building.
Someone who had been preparing for this moment long before John took his place.
He closed the folder. "Morgan, start running background scans on every department head. Rita, double security on Floor Thirteen. No one goes near the Benefactor without my say."
Rita nodded. "On it."
Morgan looked nervous. "And you. What will you do."
John looked at the photograph again.
"I will remind this building who it belongs to."
Meanwhile, inside The Crest's underground archives, a slim figure moved through the aisles quietly. A woman in a fitted suit. Hair tied neatly. Glasses that reflected the cold blue lights.
She reached the restricted vault.
Scanned her badge.
Placed her hand on the biometric pad.
Typed in a twelve digit code.
The lock clicked open.
She entered the narrow chamber lined with old records and evidence boxes. She moved without hesitation, pulling out one specific container from the top shelf. She opened it with delicate care.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Blueprints.
Encrypted files on thin data wafers.
And a tablet with Harold Raymond's signature etched on the back.
The woman removed the tablet and whispered, "I knew it. The Benefactor was right. Harold hid more than legacy."
She slipped the tablet into her bag and stepped out of the vault.
She paused only when the overhead lights flickered once.
Then twice.
As if the building recognised her movements.
She smiled.
"This war will not belong to John Raymond."
She closed the vault quietly and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.
Back in the cell, the Benefactor tilted his head slightly, as if hearing footsteps far above.
He whispered to himself.
"Good. The pieces are moving."
He smiled again.
"Now let the game begin."
On Floor Twenty One, John placed both hands on the conference table, leaning forward.
"We are done reacting," he said. "From now on, we strike first."
Rita stepped beside him. "What is the plan."
John lifted his head slowly.
"We hunt."
Morgan swallowed. "We hunt who exactly."
John's gaze turned cold enough to fracture glass.
"Everyone who thinks they can take my father's house."
He stood straight, eyes burning with purpose.
"The Benefactor wants war. His shadows want chaos. Someone inside this building thinks they can challenge me."
He picked up the photograph again.
"Let them try."
He placed it back on the table and turned toward the elevator.
"Tonight, we start cleaning this building from the inside."
Rita followed.
Morgan hurried after her.
Far below, the Benefactor closed his eyes again.
Above, the traitor walked calmly through the halls.
And at the centre of it all, The Crest shifted into a battlefield made of secrets, ambition and war.
The heir was ready.
And the shadows were waiting.