Chapter 69 Chapter 69
At that moment Bushman moved away from his family slightly.
Just a few steps, enough distance to create the illusion of privacy in a space that had very little of it left.
His thumb moved across the screen of his phone with practiced familiarity, scrolling past names and numbers until it landed on a contact that had no real name attached to it.
Just a symbol, Just two words that meant nothing to anyone who did not already know what they meant.
He pressed call, the phone rang once.
Twice, then the line connected.
There was a brief pause on the other end—the kind of pause that belonged to someone who screened everything, who never answered without first deciding whether the call was worth their time.
Then the voice came through.
Measured. Calm. Carrying the particular smoothness of someone who had operated in the shadows long enough that nothing surprised them anymore.
“Mr. Bushman.”
A short, genuine pause.
“It has been a long time. I was not expecting your call.”
Mr. Bushman did not waste time on pleasantries.
He had never been the type not in business, and certainly not now.
“Desperate times require desperate measures,” he said, his voice low and controlled.
“And right now, I find myself in a situation that is threatening everything my family has built. I need your help.”
There was a thoughtful silence on the other end.
Then the voice returned, and this time there was something new in it not quite sympathy, but the professional acknowledgment of a man who understood the weight of what he was being called for.
“I've actually heard some things already,” the voice said carefully. “Word travels fast when something involves people of a certain level. I caught wind of what has been happening with your son.”
Another brief pause.
“I'm sorry about that, Mr. Bushman. Genuinely.”
Then the tone shifted becoming more businesslike, more precise.
“But tell me are you calling because you believe someone orchestrated this? Someone who has been pulling strings deliberately from behind the scenes?”
Mr. Bushman's jaw tightened.
“Exactly,” he said. “That is exactly why I am calling.”
He turned slightly, glancing back at his family to make sure nobody was close enough to hear the specifics of what he was about to say.
They were not.
Deborah was speaking quietly with Jessica. Vincent was standing apart from everyone, his phone still in his hand, his expression somewhere between fury and calculation.
Mr. Bushman turned back and continued.
“Somebody is pulling every string in this situation,” he said, keeping his voice low and deliberate.
“And I believe that person is using leverage blackmail—against some very significant individuals. People at the top. People whose cooperation would not normally be given so easily.”
He paused.
“This person has been in prison. Recently. And I believe whatever She gathered during that time—whatever information, whatever secrets she managed to collect—is what they are now using as a weapon.”
He stopped pacing.
“I need you to dig deep. I need you to find out everything about this person. What she have been doing. Who they have been speaking to. What they are holding and over whom they are holding it.”
He let that sit for exactly one second before adding:
“And if the situation calls for the harder approach—I am not asking you to be gentle about this. I don't care how you get the information. I just need something tangible. Something concrete. Something I can hold in my hands and use to make all of this go away.”
The voice on the other end was quiet for a moment.
Not hesitant, processing, then it spoke again.
“It is going to cost you,” the voice said plainly.
“I will not pretend otherwise. A job like this—digging into someone connected to the kind of people you are describing it carries risk. And risk has a price.”
Mr. Bushman did not flinch.
“Do I sound like a man who is standing here worrying about the cost?” he said, his voice hardening. “Look at what is happening around me. Look at what has already been taken from my family today. You think money is what I am afraid of right now?”
He shook his head, even though the person on the other end could not see it.
“Do what needs to be done,” he said firmly.
“And when it is done—when you deliver what I need you will be compensated. Handsomely. More than you are expecting. You have my word on that.”
Another pause, shorter this time.
Then the voice returned and something in it had settled into the quiet, professional certainty of a man who had just accepted a contract.
“Alright,” it said. “Since you have given me the full authorization—including the harder approach if that is what it requires then you have nothing to worry about from this point forward.”
There was a sound on the other end—subtle, unidentifiable, the ambient noise of wherever this man was operating from.
“Send me the full details of this person. Everything you have. Name, background, last known movements, any connections you are already aware of. The more you give me, the faster and cleaner this goes.”
The voice became precise.
“I can promise you this—if this person is truly involved in what you are describing, if they truly have material they are using against people, we will find it. We will get to the absolute root of it.”
A brief pause.
“Give me forty-eight hours. Seventy-two at the absolute most. Before that window closes, you will have everything you need.”
Mr. Bushman exhaled slowly.
Something that was almost relief—though it carried none of the lightness that real relief brought with it.
“Good,” he said quietly.
Then he added, his voice dropping to its lowest point yet:
“One more thing. This person—do not underestimate her. she's stubborn. Extremely stubborn. More resourceful than she appear. Whatever approach you take, make sure it is strong enough. Make sure it is thorough enough.”
He paused.
“I need this done properly. Not halfway. Not carefully. Properly.”
The voice on the other end did not hesitate.
Did not waver.
“Mr. Bushman,” it said, and there was a quiet, almost cold confidence in the way it spoke, “what do you take us for?”
He stopped for a beat.
“We are the Black Dragon. We know our way around situations far more complicated than this one,
Send me the details. It will be done. Forty-eight hours.”