Obsidian Peak, Past Midnight
At the top floor of Obsidian Peak, the city glittered below like scattered diamonds.
Inside the glass-walled office, Zander didn't look up once.
Screens surrounded him—news feeds, financial trackers, encrypted communications. The words Heiress Kidnapping flashed across trending columns like wildfire.
A blurry photo. A half-confirmed report.
That was all it took.
The capital devoured scandal like it was oxygen.
Somewhere along the chain, someone had leaked it, and his boss told him to handle it.
The phones in the Obsidian Peak rang relentlessly that afternoon as reporters vied for a chance at juicy news.
Zander's jaw tightened.
"Trace the origin. Suppress everything," he ordered into his headset.
Within minutes, bots flooded timelines. Legal notices went out. Servers were pressured. Influencers were paid to pivot narratives. Hashtags disappeared.
In thirty minutes, it was as if the kidnapping had never happened.
Money erased memory.
