CHAPTER 98: HE IS HERE!!

A week folded itself into a storm and then a hush, leaving the city rearranged in its wake.

Days arrived with the kind of headline that rewrites reputations. Sterling Enterprises had quietly, decisively purchased a sixty-two percent majority stake in Air Telecommunications, a company that not only spanned continents but threaded the airwaves of dozens of nations. The press ran numbers and speculative columns—where did a Star Harbor firm find this capital overnight, who underwrote the bid, and what did it mean when a local player took control of a global backbone. Markets hiccupped. Competitors blinked and then recalculated. Investors who had slept through Sterling’s quiet moves the last month suddenly learned to sleep with one wary eye open.

Before the rumors had congealed into certainty, Sterling threw the second blow. A formal announcement arrived through government channels and corporate feeds: Sterling Enterprises would be the private partner in a defence collaboration with the National Defence and Development Research Association, the NDDRA. Overnight, a company that had been trading in construction, jewellery and media became a national player on the country’s strategic map. The tone of business conversation shifted from curiosity to guarded awe.

Between the two seismic headlines the city felt like a held breath. Where the questions ran loudest—funding sources, political strings, long-term intentions—Sterling’s operations answered with swift, meticulous motion rather than words. Balance sheets were tightened and legal teams orchestrated filings with the steady hands of people who had prepared for this.

Press interviews were polished, but management revealed nothing more than confidence. The public saw certainty. At street level, the company’s shift felt different and domestic. The weapons and arms division completed its move into the curated floor at Cinder Square.

Outside the corporate towers, lives rearranged themselves in quieter, human ways. Dion and Flora signed papers on a compact townhouse not far from the city’s green belt, their new front door a little sunburnt from the summer but warm with promise. They stacked boxes together, laughed over mismatched mugs, and rehearsed a future that didn’t require running.

The orphanage’s new school timetable had its first roster; children who had only known thin days now had the clatter of blackboards and the sunlit routine of buses.

And Miles’s household settled into a different rhythm. Summer loosened its grip and classrooms claimed Hope and Asher. On the first day of the new class both twins marched in with oversized backpacks, small faces bright with the fierce pride of wearing uniforms for the first time.

Present (A week Later)

Miles sat behind the broad glass of his cabin and let the numbers run like a low tide across the screens. The metrics glowed cold and precise; the acquisition had shifted the market but it had also bled the ledger. Reaper had put in more than half the capital, and that had kept the bid clean and fast, but Sterling’s balances were thinner now.

June hovered by the doorway, tablet in hand, voice careful as she stepped into the quiet. "Social is still at it," she said, the words hanging between them like steam. "Conspiracy threads are spreading. People want a story about the man behind the takeover."

Miles did not look away from the numbers. He let a small smile crease one side of his mouth. "Let them stitch their theories," he said. "Nobody here asks for permission to move. We make the move and then we make the world deal with it."

June moved closer, curiosity sharpening into the sort of attention "Is there anyone whose reaction matters," she asked, "someone you expect to strike back?"

He finally turned, the office light catching the set of his jaw. "Two groups," he said. "One I have already put on notice, the old master. The other is less obvious, but more dangerous in a different way. The ACE group."

June blinked. "ACE," she repeated. "Why would ACE care so much, boss? They are big, but this feels different."

Miles leaned forward, elbows on the desk, "Because ACE is not what people think," he said, his voice low enough that the room seemed to lean in. "Faces run ACE, but the money and the strings — those belong to the Sterlings. My family branch was written off. Abandoned. And if an abandoned family grows, the roots of the main family won’t appreciate it.

A slow hush fell as June absorbed the revelation. She has learnt managed crises, polished reputations and run damage control under Monica, but the idea that the enemy was a family name that shared his, that the old pedigreed architecture of power could come at him with familiar faces — that altered her calculation. "Are they a threat right now," she asked, steady, "or a future problem?

Miles let his hand pass over the desk, the motion casual but fatalist in its certainty. "Not yet," he said. "They will watch. They will test. The day they stop watching and start moving, I will be ready."

A pulse in his pocket broke the quiet. He reached for his phone, thumbed the screen, and the voice on the line cut across the cabin like a blade through silk.

"Boss," Monica said without preamble. "He is in Star Harbor."

The word sat heavy. Miles’ mouth tightened around something that was almost a smile and almost a snarl. "You mean him," he said.

"Yes," Monica confirmed. "His trail leads back from the Pacific. The old master is here, moving through the city."

The cabin seemed suddenly smaller, the glass thinner. June watched the way Miles exhaled, watched the cold light rearrange itself in his eyes.

Miles stood, the motion practiced. "Good," he said. "Keep your eyes on him. Trace his footsteps. I want a full list of everyone he meets , quietly."

Monica’s voice was the last through the line. "Already on it, boss. We have people tailing his men. We’ll ping you if anything jumps."

When the call ended, Miles let the silence back into the room for a breath and then a measured command. "June," he said, voice steady and resolute, "The old master is here."

June "Should we be prepared," she said.

Miles "Just act normal, we need to trail him first, he is connected to deadly bio-weapon"

June "Okay Boss".

Miles stood at the glass, the city stacked in lights and motion beneath him, plans threading through his head like wire. Cinder Square pulsed. Horns stitched in the afternoon. Somewhere far below, a siren sighed and faded.

The door eased open. Dion leaned in, easy grin, curious eyes.

"Hey Miles, what’s got you staring holes through the skyline?"

Miles turned with a half-smile. "Nothing. Just looking at Cinder Square. So many people, so many cars. Hard to believe any of this is real. A few months ago I was knee-deep in a bloodbath."

Dion stepped beside him, shoulder to shoulder with the glass. "Brother, living like a human beats living like a blade. Be happy and let yourself adapt. You don’t have to carry blood anymore."

Miles’ smile softened, then steadied. "I’m happy you see it that way. I’m happy for you and Flora. But my war isn’t finished. There are names still written in red. My father’s justice is still unpaid."

Dion’s gaze sharpened. "If that’s how it stands, count me in."

Miles chuckled under his breath. "You two should rest. I won’t pull you into this storm. Flora would bury me alive. I’ve got it handled."

Dion lifted his hands in surrender. "I get it. But if you need me, you know where to find me."

Miles nudged him with an elbow. "How’s the new place?"

Dion brightened. "Not fancy. Beautiful. Feels like breathing. We’re already happy there."

Miles arched his brow. "So when’s the wedding?"

Dion scratched his cheek, a little sheepish. "Soon. We started planning."

Miles blinked, then laughed. "You should have told me. Let me handle it. You’re my family."

Dion grinned. "Yeah, I’ll ask if we need anything."

They stood in companionable silence, the city humming below, two survivors tracing a future that finally looked like life.

Somewhere in the city

The old master’s safe house in Star Harbor sat behind mirrored glass and a wall of humming servers, the air cold as a morgue drawer. Maps of the city sprawled across a conference table, pins blooming like a rash around Cinder Square and the old headquarters. Men moved in shadows, boots whispering on concrete, radios kept to a breath.

The door slid and a man stepped in, face pale from lack of sleep.

"Boss, our men are already spread around Cinder Square and his old office. Street vendors, bike couriers, delivery vans. Eyes on every entrance, every service tunnel."

The old master didn’t look up at first, fingers tapping a slow code on the steel armrest. He finally raised his gaze, black and steady.

"Good. He does not live at that relic anymore. Go through the house registry and pull every title and lease in his legal name,and any company he controls. If a new roof appeared over his head, I want the address before sundown."

The man nodded. "Understood."

"Keep an eye on the whole city," the old master went on, voice smooth as oil. "Trace his blood. Widow Elena and her little kids. Their routes to school, the hours they disappear, the people who wave from the gates. Build me a clock of their lives."

The man swallowed. "We will."

"And call Merlin," the old master said, leaning forward so the overhead light carved hard lines across his face. "No amateurs. I want professionals, the kind that leave no ripples.

"Yes, boss."

The man backed away, already dialing. Outside the war room, engines stirred, drones lifted from a hidden bay, and the city beyond glittered like bait on a hook.