CHAPTER 115: FUEL!!

A soft knock tapped against the office door.

"Come in," Miles said without looking up from the last file he was signing.

June stepped inside, her tablet in hand, her expression unusually stern. "Boss, you should look at this."

Miles raised his eyes, noting the seriousness in her voice. He gestured for her to hand it over. "What is it, June?"

June tilted the screen toward him. "It looks like someone is really trying to interrupt the renovation of the restaurant."

Miles leaned closer, his sharp gaze scanning the feed and still images. A few blurry shots, then clearer captures. June zoomed in on three faces, all rough-looking men loitering nearby at different times. "Boss," June said quietly, "these are the people who were spotted every time something strange happened. Materials missing, workers not showing up, even that rumor of ghosts—these three were always in the background."

Miles studied the screen for a few more seconds, then leaned back in his chair. His lips curved into a cold smile. "Let me show them the real Ghost, then. How dare they disrupt Mom’s restaurant..."

June’s eyes widened slightly at his tone. "Boss... you will go there yourself? Should I arrange some backup?"

Miles turned his gaze to her, a playful spark flickering in his eyes as he chuckled. "Ask Superman to come."

June froze, her cheeks turning faintly red. "Sorry, boss," she muttered, looking down at the tablet.

Miles shook his head lightly, amused. "Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. The day’s already ended for you—go home, get some rest."

June hesitated, then nodded and gave a small bow. "Yes, boss. Good night."

"Good night, June."

The office door closed softly behind her. Silence returned, only broken by the faint hum of the city outside.

Miles stacked the papers neatly, slid them aside, and took his keys. Moments later, his sleek black car roared to life.

The city lights blurred past as he drove through Star Harbor. The thought of Elena’s smile and her excitement for the restaurant lingered in his mind. No one touches Mom’s dream... not while I’m alive.

The car turned toward Pearl Villa, headlights cutting through the dusk, carrying him home.

Citadel City,

A dimly lit private room inside a luxurious nightclub.

The bass from outside throbbed faintly through the walls, but inside it was quiet, only the sound of a small glass being set on the table.

Silvey Sterling sat with her back straight, her expression sharp but calm, her delicate fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass she hadn’t touched. Opposite her sat a man in a well-pressed suit, his eyes hidden behind thin rectangular glasses. His name was Zed, a private investigator she had hired, known in the underground for digging out truths people thought were buried forever.

Zed leaned back slightly, flipping through a thin folder before placing it on the table. "I looked into the past fifteen years of family movement records. Everything I could find."

Silvey’s voice was cool, steady, but expectant. "And? What did you find?"

Zed laced his fingers together. "None of the family members have conducted any official business in Star Harbor. Not a single one."

Silvey frowned, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "Not a single business? That’s impossible. I don’t believe ACE Group left the port city untouched. Star Harbor is too important, too strategic. There has to be something."

Zed shook his head. "Nothing on paper. Which leads me to believe... maybe it has something to do with Timothy Sterling’s old operations there. If anyone knows, it might be your grandfather."

Her eyes softened briefly at the mention of Timothy, then hardened again. "You said you traced movements. Did you find anything... unusual?"

Zed nodded. "One name stood out. Your uncle, Kyle. He was the only family member who visited Star Harbor almost every year, without fail. For the last fifteen years."

Silvey’s gaze sharpened. "For what?"

Zed leaned forward, lowering his voice. "To find that out, I tracked down his retired driver. Brought him in for a little... interrogation."

Silvey’s pulse quickened, but her voice was steady. "And?"

Zed pulled out a tablet and pressed play. The screen showed a Sterling Media broadcast: footage of the biggest drug bust in Star Harbor’s recent history.

Silvey’s eyes widened. "This... this was the raid on that massive factory. Are you saying—" she stopped, her chest tightening. "You mean Uncle Kyle had something to do with that?"

Zed’s expression was grave. "More than something. He owned it. Off the books. It was his."

The color drained slightly from her face. "What?"

"Yes," Zed continued flatly. "I dug deeper. Your uncle Kyle’s hands are very red, Miss Sterling. He has his shadow empire—multiple involvements in illegal businesses, laundering, black market exports. All hidden with remarkable precision. He hides it better than most crime syndicates."

Silvey sat back, stunned. For a moment, her usual poise slipped. "Why did no one know? Why didn’t the family—"

"Because he made sure no one did," Zed interrupted. "He’s careful. Ruthless."

Silvey’s jaw tightened. "So... do you think he’s the one?"

Zed tilted his head, considering. "I’m not certain. But the timing is... suspicious. There are connections that don’t sit right. Especially after Sterling Enterprises rose again."

Silvey narrowed her eyes. "Like what?"

Zed swiped on the tablet again. This time, a video clip played—footage from a breakfast gathering in Brightvale City Square.

Silvey leaned in. At first, it looked ordinary, until the moment came—her cousin, Miles Sterling, standing, slamming his palm down on the table. The wood splintered, cracked and broke under his hand as if it were nothing.

Silvey’s lips parted. Her eyes went wide, almost disbelieving. "That’s... that’s Miles. What is he doing? Did he just—" She almost choked on her own words. "Did he just break a table with his bare hands?"

Zed’s expression didn’t change. "Yes. Your cousin Miles... has secrets. I’ve tried to investigate him, but every track vanishes. His records are erased, like someone’s always been cleaning up after him. But this clip slipped through."

Silvey’s hand tightened around her glass. "So what’s the connection?"

Zed tapped the screen, freezing the frame on the men who had been seated around the table. "The people at the table weren’t random. They were employees of ACE Finances."

Silvey’s chest tightened again. "What?"

"After this incident," Zed went on, "a strange development followed. ACE Finances was poised to acquire floors in a major building project, but suddenly... they lost it. The deal collapsed. And instead, someone else bought the entire building."

Silvey’s brows furrowed. "Wait. I’ve heard of this. It caused quite a stir on the net. Isn’t this about Joker Finances?"

Zed nodded. "Exactly. Joker Finances suddenly rose from nowhere. People laughed at the memes mocking ACE finances, called it a joke—until it started operating seriously. And do you know who backs it? The Reaper Group."

Silvey’s mind reeled. "The Reaper Group? Why would that giant have any involvement with a financial firm in the Brightvale City?"

"I don’t know," Zed admitted, "but I do know this: Reaper handed its one of the biggest project to Sterling Enterprises in Star Harbor"

Silvey’s breath caught. "So... you’re saying Miles is somehow involved in all this?"

Zed sat back, his expression grim. "It’s only speculation. But my gut says yes. Look at the facts—the drug factory that ran for decades suddenly busted. At the same time, Sterling Enterprises rises from the ashes. That’s no coincidence."

Silvey leaned back in her chair, her pulse pounding. Her wine glass trembled slightly in her hand.

Miles Sterling... her mysterious cousin.Her gut told her Zed was right.

Silvey sat there in the velvet glow of the nightclub’s private room, her voice low but firm."So... Uncle Kyle had something to do with the fall of Sterling Enterprises in Star Harbor seventeen years ago. And maybe even with the death of Uncle Edward... Miles’ father."

Zed adjusted his tie, his tone measured but cautious."Still, that’s speculation. I have no solid proof yet. But... from what I’ve uncovered, it’s very much possible. The threads point his way."

Silvey’s fingers tapped against her glass, her eyes distant as her thoughts raced."If that’s true..." she whispered, "then he’ll go after Sterling Enterprises in Star Harbor again. He won’t stop. Not after all this time."

Zed stood, collecting his papers with practiced ease, a faint smirk playing on his lips."I don’t think it’ll be that easy for him. Like I told you... Miles Sterling has secrets. Secrets that even I couldn’t peel apart. If your uncle tries to cross him, my guess? Kyle will lose."

He tucked the folder into his coat pocket and straightened, his voice brisk."Anyways, my commission ends here. Thank you for the big bundles, Miss Sterling. Always a pleasure doing business."

Silvey raised her glass and tilted it slightly in his direction. "Thanks, Zed."

As the door closed behind him, she sat back in the leather chair, the amber liquid in her glass catching the dim light. A quiet smile touched her lips, half-bitterness, half-relief.

"If Uncle Kyle really is involved..." she murmured to herself, taking a slow sip, "then my ticket to freedom is almost here."

Midnight draped Star Harbor in silence, the streets empty and the breeze carrying the salt of the nearby sea.

At the under-renovation restaurant site, shadows stirred. A black car rolled up to the back alley and stopped without a sound. Its doors opened, and several men stepped out, their boots crunching against the gravel.

Fuel containers were lifted from the trunk, heavy and sloshing. The men moved with practiced stealth, slipping toward the rear wall of the property.

"Climb over," one whispered.

Rough hands gripped the bricks, bodies hauling themselves up one by one. They dropped into the dark construction yard with a dull thud.

Inside, the skeletal frame of the restaurant loomed—half-painted walls, scaffolding, and the faint scent of cement dust. The men found a broken window, pushed it wider, and slipped in, their fuel cans rattling.

A broad, bald man stepped ahead, his voice low but commanding."Remember the job. Tonight we burn this place down. Nothing left."

Another man chuckled. "Easy work, boss. We got paid plenty for it. One spark and it’s gone."

The bald man sneered, "Good. Then move fast. No mistakes."

"Okay, boss," came the chorus in hushed tones.

They scattered, prying open lids, the sharp reek of gasoline filling the empty rooms. The sound of liquid splashing onto wood and cement echoed in the dark.

Then, as one of the men fumbled in his pocket, a flicker of flame appeared. The bald man had pulled out a cigarette, the tiny orange spark lighting his scarred face.

The smell of fuel clung thick to their clothes.

A voice, calm yet cutting, rolled from the shadows.

"When your own clothes are soaked in fuel..."

The bald man froze.

"...you really shouldn’t smoke."

The men spun around, their eyes wide, searching the darkness.

The voice came again, closer this time—steady, cold.

"Especially not in front of me."