Chapter 307

Chapter 307

K looked at Stanley, one thought looping through his mind: absurd.

This was Stanley's idea of "going through proper channels"? The process moved faster than fiber-optic cable.

"The bulletin says the gang is suspected of multiple counts of transnational cybercrime and financial fraud. It also mentions their attempted attack on an international nonprofit's network system." K continued his report. "The police spokesperson gave special thanks to an 'anonymous vigilante' who provided critical leads."

Stanley didn't respond. He picked up his coffee and took a sip.

"The interrogation results are in too." K's pace quickened, excitement written all over his face. "The ringleader, 'Shade,' confessed everything. They were hired, just like we thought. Their target was our Lighthouse Initiative. The employer's orders were clear—destroy our database at any cost and cripple the project completely."

"Who hired them?" Stanley asked.

"One of Caleb's former associates. Guy's doing some 'import-export' business in South America now. He thought sabotaging our charity project would prove his loyalty to Caleb, maybe earn him a promotion." K's mouth twisted. "Idiot kissed ass and kicked a hornets' nest instead."

Stanley set down his coffee cup and stood.

"Upgrade the system." He walked to the massive data screen where the scrolling code had stopped. "Firewall protocol—use Bastion Gen 3. Database encryption—quantum key. All volunteer information gets air-gapped with triple redundancy across three locations."

K's eyes lit up.

Bastion Gen 3, quantum keys... These were things of legend, Stanley's crown jewels. With that level of protection, forget hackers—aliens would scratch their heads in defeat.

"Yes, sir!" K answered enthusiastically, turning to relay the orders.

"Wait." Stanley stopped him.

K paused.

"Give everyone who worked on the repair and trace operation triple bonuses." Stanley said. "And have the foundation purchase maximum-coverage commercial insurance policies for all their families."

K froze.

He'd worked with Stanley long enough to know Stanley was a god with technology but practically illiterate when it came to human connection. He'd expected something like "good work, keep it up."

Triple bonuses and commercial insurance.

This concrete, almost clumsy gesture of care carried more weight than any verbal praise ever could.

K's eyes stung. He nodded hard. "I'll handle it right away!"

...

That afternoon, at the healing classroom.

Sophia had just finished a session and was seeing off the last child.

Preston burst in, clutching a printed document, his face glowing with excitement.

"Ms. Grey! Good news—amazing news!" He thrust the document at her. "I had someone check, and the Russell Group foundation's application process is completely legitimate. They prioritize projects like ours with proven results in art therapy! I already submitted our materials. They're very interested and said they'd send someone for a site visit!"

Sophia took the document and glanced at the title—Russell Group Special Charity Foundation Grant Application Guidelines.

She didn't open it.

"Preston."

"Yes, Ms. Grey?"

"Our project doesn't accept funding from any commercial conglomerate." Sophia handed the document back, her tone calm but leaving no room for negotiation.

The smile froze on Preston's face. "Why... why not? This is the Russell Group—fifty billion dollars! We could—"

"Because we don't need money." A cool voice came from the doorway.

Preston turned to see a young man in a black hoodie and backpack standing there. Tall, lean, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face.

Stanley.

Preston didn't recognize him, but seeing Sophia's expression soften, he knew this was someone who belonged.

Stanley walked to Sophia and handed her a tablet.

"Soph, this is the Lighthouse Initiative backend."

Sophia took it. The screen showed an interface so minimalist it bordered on crude, but in the upper right corner, a real-time scrolling number stopped her cold.

It was a donation amount.

The zeros made her eyes blur.

"What's this?"

"The Lighthouse Initiative received an anonymous donation this morning." Stanley said. "Designated purpose: global expansion and development of the 'Growing Toward the Sun' art therapy project."

Preston leaned over to look. Then he felt his breathing stop.

He rubbed his eyes hard and looked again.

Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands... hundred millions, billions...

Ten billion.

Preston's eyes rolled back. He nearly fainted on the spot.

He'd been celebrating just getting the application slot for Russell Group's five billion, and now someone had casually dumped ten billion into the project.

Anonymously.

He suddenly felt his understanding of the world had developed a slight discrepancy.

Sophia looked at the number, then at Stanley.

Stanley shrugged. "Some passing 'anonymous vigilante' thought our lighthouse wasn't bright enough."

...

Downtown, top floor of that nondescript office building.

Sophia's first time here.

The entire space smelled of code and caffeine. Dozens of technicians sat at their workstations, keyboards clattering.

Seeing Sophia and Stanley enter, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked over in unison.

This was their boss's sister.

The woman from legend, the one who made Stanley willingly step down from his pedestal to cook for her.

K, as representative, stepped forward. He seemed somewhat nervous.

"Ms. Grey, hello."

"Hello, everyone." Sophia's gaze swept across each person present. "Thank you for your hard work."

Her voice was soft, but everyone heard clearly.

"I came today to thank you all." Sophia said. "Thank you for protecting the Lighthouse Initiative and everyone who needs help."

The technicians exchanged glances, somewhat embarrassed. They were just doing their jobs for pay—they hadn't expected the actual beneficiary to come thank them personally.

"I brought something." Sophia stepped aside as security personnel behind her carried in several large boxes.

Not bubble tea or snacks, but the latest ergonomic chairs, professional eye-protection monitors, and vertical mice that relieved wrist strain.

All the peripherals programmers needed most—and the most expensive ones.

K looked at the logos on those boxes, his heartbeat skipping. Each of these items cost as much as his monthly salary.

"Soph, you're making me look bad." Stanley muttered beside her.

He'd just given employees bonuses and insurance, thinking he'd been very "people-oriented." Then Sophia showed up and replaced everyone's hardware setup.

By comparison, his bonuses looked pathetically stingy.

Sophia ignored him. She walked to Stanley's private office and closed the door.

"That file," she got straight to the point, "are there backups on Russell Group's servers?"

"Gone." Stanley's answer was decisive. "After 'Shade' extracted the file, he used low-level formatting to erase traces. When I got in, even the disk tracks had been overwritten three times. Clean as a new hard drive."

Sophia nodded.

"I looked into that 'donor matching database.'" Stanley opened his computer and pulled up a file. "This database was established eight years ago by a private medical institution under the Russell family. Highest security clearance."

That was before she married James, even before she had any formal connection to the Russell family.

"The database contains profiles of three hundred 'donors.' You're S001, the first one." Stanley zoomed in on a screenshot. "And David—his file number is R001."

S. Source. R. Recipient.

A thought took root in Sophia's mind.

"I checked when David was diagnosed with leukemia." Stanley's fingers tapped the keyboard, pulling up another medical record. "Also eight years ago."

Sophia looked at the two profiles displayed side by side on the screen: S001 and R001. Source and Recipient. Her expression didn't change, only her eyelashes flickered slightly.

Eight years ago.

Her first year married to James.

David was diagnosed with leukemia.

And she, completely unaware, became the first "donor" in this database.

All the deliberately obscured past came into sharp focus in this moment.

Every piece of history that had been intentionally blurred now pointed in one clear direction.