Chapter 285

Chapter 285

"An organization that lurks in darkness, feeding on the destruction of light. They call themselves 'The Shadow.'"

"Never heard of them."

Richard's expression grew more serious than she'd ever seen. "They never operate in daylight, only targeting 'singularities' powerful enough to shift the world's balance."

"Like your 'Starlink.' And the only person who could leverage our secret is someone from The Shadow's highest echelon. Codename—' Night King.'"

Margaret's heart sank deeper with each word.

"What does he want?"

"Everything." Richard's gaze turned distant. "Technology, talent, or outright destruction. For them, chaos itself is a feast."

He stepped closer, meeting her eyes with complete equality for the first time.

"Margaret, you opened a door. Now, what's outside is coming through."

That evening, lights blazed throughout Richard's secret safe house in the suburbs.

This was command central for Operation Blackstone.

His intelligence team worked at breakneck speed.

"Mr. Neville, we've made a discovery after activating maximum clearance tracking."

His lead operative handed over a file. "The Shadow's financial network is incredibly complex—most funds flow through untraceable cryptocurrency. But we caught an anomaly."

"Cut to the chase."

"This branch leads to an account dormant for thirty years. Registered to the Lancelot family foundation."

Richard froze.

The Lancelot family—old-money financial aristocrats who'd battled the Nevilles across European markets thirty years ago, only to lose everything.

He remembered his father mentioning that the family's last heir had vanished after bankruptcy.

A name history had forgotten, now resurfacing through The Shadow.

Richard stared at the unfamiliar family crest on screen, understanding dawning.

This wasn't simple corporate raiding.

This was revenge, thirty years overdue.

And Margaret, with her Starlink, was just the first piece on their board.

The air inside the safe house felt colder than the mountain wind outside.

The intelligence team had worked thirty-six straight hours, bloodshot eyes all around.

An encrypted channel pinged with an incoming request.

No signature, just a black phoenix emblem.

"Put it through." Richard's voice was steel.

After the main screen flickered, instead of a masked figure, a cozy living room appeared.

A young woman held a five or six-year-old boy, reading him a storybook.

Steven's wife and son.

Margaret's heart clenched.

The woman in the feed seemed to sense something, looking up at the camera with terror written across her face.

A processed electronic voice spoke: "Ms. Kennedy, Mr. Neville, good evening. I imagine you miss Dr. Johnson, and we're quite fond of his family."

Silence.

"We're interested in Starlink, particularly that core code segment. We'll trade Dr. Johnson's family's safety for this gift."

A pause. "The location is Lakehaven in Zephyria. You have twenty-four hours to prepare. Don't contact authorities, and don't try anything clever. Mr. Neville should remember the Lancelot family's lesson. We don't like losing."

The boy in the feed grew fussy from his mother's tense embrace, starting to cry.

The woman frantically soothed him, tears welling in her eyes.

The feed cut to black.

Command central fell silent.

A subordinate couldn't help but curse under his breath: "Those bastards! Using women and children as leverage!"

A technician looked at Margaret, eyes pleading. "Ms. Kennedy..."

Margaret's gaze remained fixed on the dark screen, expressionless. She stayed silent until the air grew thick.

Then she turned to the intelligence chief: "Contact the security director. Move all core personnel families to maximum security 'fortress' protocol immediately. Twenty-four-hour rotating protection, cut all unnecessary outside contact."

Her voice was clear and cold.

"Also, have the tech department prepare fake core data. Make it convincing, but embed our tracking beacons and self-destruct backdoors."

The young technician stared. "Ms. Kennedy, you mean... to negotiate?"

Margaret met his eyes, her gaze arctic.

"No. We don't negotiate."

She spoke each word deliberately: "But we need them to think we're preparing to."

Everyone felt chilled by the ice in her tone.

"Margaret." Richard finally spoke, signaling the others to leave.

The door closed, leaving just the two of them.

"I understand your concerns," Richard said. "Hand over the core algorithm, and Starlink is finished. But Dr. Johnson is your employee. They're innocent."

"So?" Margaret turned, her eyes showing a nearly cruel edge for the first time. "Trade two lives for the potential disaster of millions? Richard, how would you calculate that equation?"

She was asking him, but also herself.

Richard watched her like a cornered young animal, bristling with defensive spikes.

Instead of answering directly, he brought up something else: "My tech team cracked real-time dynamic AI face-swapping six months ago. With sufficient facial data and voice prints, we can achieve ninety-nine percent accuracy—even thermal imaging can't tell the difference."

Margaret went still.

"We can't send Dr. Johnson's actual wife," Richard met her eyes. "But we can send 'her.'"

Margaret's breath caught.

"Do you have a suitable woman on your team?" she asked, voice steady again.

"No." Richard's answer was blunt. "They want a panicked mother. My people could wear her face, but the killer instinct in their eyes would show."

"Then..."

"But you could."

Richard studied her. "You understand her. You know which finger she rubs when nervous, what tone she uses to calm her son."

He paused: "And your acting skills—I've experienced them firsthand."

The comment carried unclear implications.

Margaret's face went slightly pale, then returned to normal.

"I need our people on-site for backup."

"My Blackstone Squad will cross the border early to clear obstacles," Richard said. "You just need to play the desperate wife, hand over the fake data, then escort the hostages to the designated safe point."

Margaret looked at him, suddenly feeling like he was a stranger. This was the real Richard—he didn't choose between options. He took everything.

"Fine." Just one word.

Forty-eight hours later. Lakehaven, Zephyria.

Havencrest Avenue outdoor café.

Margaret wore a plain windbreaker, hair casually pinned up, no makeup, with an invisible earpiece.

"Target approaching. Nine o'clock, black Mercedes. Three occupants, thermal shows no heavy weapons." Richard's voice came through the earpiece.