CHAPTER 8
The night air was exceptionally cold,
biting at Marcus's face as he stood at the edge of the abandoned pier,
the exact coordinates leading him straight to the dark harbor.
Fog rolled over the black water,
thick and heavy,
swallowing the distant city lights until he felt completely isolated from the world.
He kept his hands buried deep inside his coat pockets,
one resting firmly on the cold metal of a small tracking device,
just in case things went south.
Back at the estate,
Khloe was waiting,
surrounded by top-tier security guards he had personally hired,
but the anxiety in his gut refused to subside.
A low engine sound rumbled through the mist,
and a sleek,
unlit boat glided silently toward the dock,
its hull cutting through the dark waves without a sound.
A figure emerged from the cabin,
shrouded in a long dark trench coat,
holding a lantern that cast an eerie yellow glow over the wooden planks.
Marcus stepped forward,
his boots clicking sharply against the timber,
refusing to show even a hint of hesitation or fear.
"You are a hard man to find,
especially since your obituary was printed three years ago,"
Marcus stated coldly,
his eyes locking onto the older man's weathered face.
The stranger chuckled,
a dry,
raspy sound that echoed off the water,
as he lowered the lantern to reveal deep scars along his jawline.
"Death is an excellent hiding place,
young Thorne,
especially when the people you owe money to are ruthless,"
the man replied,
stepping fully onto the pier.
He introduced himself as Arthur Vance,
his father's former chief financial officer,
the guy who handled the off-the-books transactions that built the Thorne empire.
Arthur took a deep breath,
exhaling a cloud of white vapor into the freezing air,
before delivering a warning that changed everything.
"Your father didn't just leave you a fortune,
Marcus,
he left you a target on your back,"
Arthur muttered,
his eyes darting nervously toward the shadows behind them.
"The missing billions were never lost,
they were stolen by a shadow syndicate within your own board of directors,
and they are coming to collect the remaining shares."
Marcus felt a cold anger ignite deep inside his chest,
realizing that the wolves were still circling his family,
waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
He demanded names,
proof,
and accounts,
refusing to let this ghost walk away without giving him the keys to end this war permanently.
Arthur reached into his coat,
pulling out an encrypted flash drive,
its silver casing catching the faint light of the lantern.
"Everything is in here,
the names,
the routing numbers,
and the assassinations they ordered to keep it quiet,"
Arthur whispered,
pressing the drive into Marcus's hand.
But before Marcus could ask another question,
May you like
a sharp beam of light cut through the fog from the road above,
accompanied by the screeching sound of tires against asphalt.
