Chapter 6
559words
Damian grew even more silent, and the difficulty of my assigned tasks increased exponentially. Like a cold-blooded animal trainer, he constantly tested my limits with increasingly complex problems, searching for my breaking point.
And I, playing the tech-obsessed maniac, solved each impossible problem one by one.
But I knew this wasn't enough.
Thorne's appearance was like a massive stone thrown into a calm lake—ripples spreading everywhere, undercurrents growing violent beneath the surface. I couldn't wait any longer. Passively proving my value would only make me a more useful tool, not a player in the game.
I needed to take the initiative. A precise, deadly strike to show him my true value.
Friday night, the opportunity came.
Damian left the office unusually early for an important business dinner. I was alone on the top floor.
I walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing down at the brilliantly lit city. Somewhere in that jungle of money and power, Thorne was conducting his dirty business. From scattered bits of information, I'd pieced together the outline—a multi-hundred-million-dollar weapons parts smuggling operation, running through overseas shell companies.
The risk was extreme. But the reward was equally enormous.
I returned to my computer and took a deep breath. My fingertips were ice cold.
"Come on," I whispered to the screen. "Let's see just how many secrets you've been hiding."
I didn't try to breach the "Cerberus" firewall again—that would be suicide. What I needed was an unexpected entry point.
My brain worked like a parallel processor, instantly simulating dozens of intrusion paths. Finally, I locked onto a target—Thorne's private charitable foundation. The perfect front, a white glove for money laundering and secret transactions. Its network defenses, compared to "Styx Power," were practically tissue paper.
It took me just ten minutes to get everything I wanted.
Transaction details, cargo ship routes, exchange times, even the encrypted satellite phone number Thorne used for communications.
Looking at the evidence on screen that could send Thorne straight to hell, my heart raced. But I knew it wasn't time yet. Exposing this directly would only alert them and might even implicate Damian.
What I needed was to send him a "gift." A gift he couldn't refuse—one that would show him my true power.
I didn't touch the core evidence. I only extracted the most inconspicuous yet crucial piece from the complex data—the ID of a commercial communications satellite they used for signal relay.
Then I anonymously sent this ID, along with an untraceable cryptocurrency address, to Thorne's biggest competitor in the Middle East.
The email was simple:
"Satellite coordinates in exchange for one million dollars. Valid for one hour."
After doing all this, I quickly erased all traces, exited the foundation's system, and shut down the computer.
I collapsed back in my chair, feeling utterly drained. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt. What I'd just done was like throwing a bloody chunk of meat between two circling predators.
What happened next was beyond my control.
But I knew Thorne would be furious. And Damian would certainly realize a third party had intervened.
My bet was that when Damian discovered this, I'd be his first suspect. And that was exactly what I wanted.
I needed him to come question me.
I needed to show my hand, on my own terms.
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