Chapter 145
Lucien leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the city lights casting sharp lines across his face. His voice dropped, quiet and lethal. “Set up eyes inside that club. I want to know who he meets, what he says, and how much he thinks he has. If he so much as breathes my name, I want it on record before he finishes the sentence.”
“Yes, boss.”
The call ended, but Lucien didn’t move immediately. He stared out the dark window, his reflection looking back at him, hard, unreadable, dangerous.
A part of him simmered with something he rarely admitted to himself, unease. He had enemies everywhere, but Han was no fool. If the broker thought he had leverage, it meant there was a grain of truth in what he held. And if there was truth, then Serena could be dragged into the fire.
That was unacceptable.
He took a slow breath, then dialed again, this time to his inner circle, men who weren’t just paid hands but trusted shadows.
When the line connected, Lucien’s words were sharp, deliberate.
“Lock down Han’s routes. If he tries to leave the city, cut him off. If he sets a meeting with the Wengs, I want to be there first. Make no mistake, whatever truth he thinks he’s unearthed, I will be the one to hear it from his lips. No one else.”
The man on the other end hesitated. “And if he resists?”
Lucien’s eyes flashed cold. “Then erase him. Quietly.”
The call ended. Silence filled the car, but it wasn’t empty. It pulsed with the storm Lucien was about to unleash.
For years, he had built walls high enough to bury his secrets under stone and steel. But if Han had managed to loosen one brick, the whole structure could crack. And the Wengs, hungry and reckless, would tear at it until it collapsed.
Lucien’s lips curved into a grim smile.
.....................
Han the broker swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught the burnished rim. To most, it was an ordinary drink, but to him it was a ritual, a moment to think, to weigh, to calculate.
The private club he sat in was thick with cigar smoke and the faint hum of money changing hands. Dealers ran quiet games in the corners, and men in pressed suits laughed too loudly over their winnings. But Han wasn’t here to play. He was here to make the kind of bargain that could tilt fortunes and topple kings.
On the table before him lay a folder. He had carried it across borders, past ports and docks where memories lingered like ghosts. Inside were papers, copies of old shipping manifests, coded letters, and testimonies from men long thought dead. To the untrained eye, it looked like a jumbled mess. To Han, it was a map, a thread that led back to a man the world thought untouchable.
Lucien Feng.
Han leaned back in his chair, his smile sharp. “You covered your tracks well, old friend. But every empire has cracks.”
He remembered the whispers, the hushed stories in underground circles, of a Zhao daughter, Meilin, who once vanished from her family’s estate. The story went that she was handed over, offered like a bargaining chip, to settle a debt with a syndicate. Nothing had ever been proven. But Han had lived long enough to know, the truth doesn’t always need proof to destroy.
And now, he had the Weng family practically salivating for dirt.
The booth curtain rustled. Weng Zhen slid into the seat across from him, flanked by two men who tried too hard to look invisible. Han didn’t bother glancing at them; his eyes stayed on Zhen.
“You have something for me,” Zhen said, his voice tight with impatience.
Han tapped the folder. “Information. Dangerous. The kind that can cripple even a man like Lucien Feng.”
Zhen’s eyes lit with a greedy spark, but he schooled his expression quickly. “I’ll need more than riddles. What exactly are you implying?”
Han chuckled, low and easy. “That I found where the skeletons are buried.”
Zhen’s hand twitched. “Proof?”
Han slid the folder forward just enough for Zhen to touch the edge. “Whispers backed by records. Names, places, dates. Enough to raise doubt in the right ears. Enough to make Serena Lin question the man lying next to her at night.”
He let the words hang, savoring the flicker of triumph across Zhen’s face. Han had seen that hunger before, the desperate need of lesser men to believe they had a weapon against giants. It made them reckless. It made them pay well.
Zhen leaned closer, lowering his voice. “If this is true, we can cut Lucien off at the knees. The elders will finally see he’s unfit. Arabelle...”
Han raised a hand, smirking. “Careful. Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is a gift, yes, but gifts come with a price.”
Zhen’s jaw clenched. “Name it.”
“Protection. Access. And when the dust settles, a seat at the table. I deal in information, not loyalty. But if you want to use what I have, I’ll need guarantees.”
Zhen’s nostrils flared, but greed won over pride. He nodded. “Done. Show me everything.”
Han’s smile widened, but inside, his mind was still racing. He knew Lucien Feng wouldn’t sit quietly while others toyed with his past. If the man even suspected how close Han had gotten, the streets would burn.
But Han thrived in danger. This was his stage, his theater. He felt the thrill of hunting a bigger predator.
He raised his glass in mock salute. “To new alliances… and old ghosts.”
The clink of crystal sounded louder than it should have, carrying a promise neither man fully understood. Because somewhere in the city, Lucien was already on his way to him.