And that’s where…
Lucas squinted his eyes at the stage.
…Anthony Jack would be.
Jack was holding one of his new “public press” events. Where ordinary citizens, not reporters, could step up and ask questions on camera. Anyone was allowed.
Lucas’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need to hear a word to know what this was.
A show.
Lucas couldn't really make out all the features of Anthony, since it was too far and too packed with people who wouldn't let anyone pass, but Lucas had seen enough of Jack's face to not recognize him now.
Jack wasn’t alone- his men flanked him like a lineup of armor: clean-shaved, bulletproof-eyed, standing in pressed suits like they were born with earpieces stitched into their skulls.
They didn’t look like bodyguards. They looked like believers.
Lucas lingered at the edge of the square, half-hidden behind a cart selling roasted corn, hands stuffed in his pockets.
He wasn’t planning to stay long. He hated crowds. Hated noise. And above all-
He hated Anthony Jack.
The name itself curdled something inside him.
He killed my father.
And no one talks about it like it matters anymore.
The speaker hissed again. A man stepped forward.
He's probably one of Jack's men.
“Our city stands as proof that rebuilding is possible. We know some of you despise us, but we also know that some of you are misunderstood. That’s why we’re holding this conference in the open. Anyone can ask questions.”
Lucas scoffed. As if you are going to tell the truth.
The crowd- at least, the half from their city- clapped. Cheered. Some even chanted.
Lucas knew the divide. People here believed Jack was a reformer. That he'd saved them. But the neighboring city- his father’s city- they remembered the riots. The fire. The blood.
Lucas hands clenched into fists at his sides. He hated seeing him- seeing Anthony Jack feed off the power that was once his dad's.
People didn't even care. Didn't even care that someone had to die, someone had to endure torture for them.
My dad.
This city doesn't even care about him.
Lucas hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten. A few steps more.
He could now make the outline of the man who held the cardboard up.
Another voice drifted through the noise. Not from the mic. Not from the chants.
“Justice for Hart Whitaker!”
Lucas froze.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing as they scanned the line of protesters opposite the stage. Most were older- probably the same age his father would've been now.
Right. They might know about dad.
Lucas moved.
One step.
Ten steps.
And then Lucas saw him.
Another man holding a wooden sign, ink faded at the edges but clear enough to read:
JUSTICE FOR HART WHITAKER.
He wasn’t yelling. Just holding the sign, eyes locked on the stage like it owed him something.
Lucas stepped closer.
No one else seemed to notice the man holding the sign- mid-fifties, grey ponytail, worn-out sneakers, and a folded newspaper tucked under one arm like it was part of his body.
Lucas stared. The sign burned into his vision.
He walked up to the man slowly.
“You knew Hart Whitaker?” Lucas asked, voice low.
The man turned.
For a second, his eyes were lost- somewhere far behind Lucas, like he wasn’t really seeing him. Then he blinked, slowly, like someone waking up.
“Hart Whitaker?” he repeated, voice hoarse with age and smoke and maybe grief. “Yeah. I knew him.”
Lucas swallowed. He…knew dad.
The chanting in the background started to shift:
“WE REMEMBER!”
“NOT OUR CITY, NOT HIS RULE!”
“ONE MAN DOESN’T MAKE A NATION!”
Not the same words as before. They were angrier now. As if the people shouting them hadn’t just come to hold up signs- they’d come to tear something down.
Lucas could feel it too.
The man with the ponytail, tucked his newspaper under one arm and turned his full body toward Lucas. “What’s it to you?”
Lucas hesitated. “I just- wanted to ask.”
The man studied him.
One beat.
Two.
Then something softened in his expression. “Are you from Gloucester?”
Gloucester… That’s the neighboring city dad used to rule.
Lucas shook his head. “No. But… my dad was.”
“Ah.” The man’s lips quivered like he almost smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hart ruled Gloucester like a damn chessboard. Every piece in place, every ally accounted for.”
Lucas looked at the sign. He did…?
“He wasn’t perfect,” He said after a pause. “But he was a hell of a lot better than what we got now.”
Lucas nodded slowly. “You knew him well?”
“I was his shadow,” he said, chuckling dryly. “I remained close to him. Bodyguard, assistant, errands boy. Whatever he needed. It was a lot of fun working with him.”
Lucas’s throat tightened.
“It was?” Lucas said, before he could stop himself.
“Yeah,” The man answered, his brows drawing in as he studied Lucas for a bit, then he said, “I’m surprised. I had no idea a kid this young could know about him.”
Oh shoot.
“I- I didn't know him personally!” Lucas’ hands flew up to his face as an attempt to prove his words, “I just… I just think of him highly, that’s all. He’s… cool.”
The man stared. Something shifted in his face.
Then he grinned. “Finally! Someone else who thinks he was cool! I’ve met many people who side with him, but it makes me glad beyond measure that kids know who’s right and who’s wrong.”
Lucas didn’t answer.
The man sighed, stuck his right hand out to Lucas. “I’m Dylan, by the way.”
“Lucas.”
They both shaked hands,“Nice to meet you, Lucas.”
The crowd surged behind them. More chanting. This time louder, less organized.
“NO MORE KILLERS IN POWER!”
“ONE CITY, ONE TRUTH!”
“GLOUCESTER REMEMBERS!”
Lucas flinched at the last one. It always came down to Gloucester.
That city. His dad’s city.
Lucas and Jamie had moved from Gloucester to Camden when Lucas was little. But he’d heard about it growing up. Jamie used to say it was where “the ghosts still walk.” Where Hart’s allies remained underground, angry and waiting. They never accepted Jack’s rule. And they never would.
Lucas remembered something else Jamie said once, in a rare moment.
.
.
Glocester was a city with a spine. Jack broke it.
.
.
Lucas turned back to Dylan. “You think they’ll ever believe it? That Jack was behind what happened?”
Dylan’s jaw clenched. “Believe it? They knew it. Everyone who mattered knew it. But Jack played it smart. He burned the files, bought the cameras. They said Hart was unstable and said it was a coup.” Dylan looked at Lucas, “You know what they say when the villain wins?”
Lucas didn’t answer.
“They just rewrite the story until he looks like a hero.”
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Lucas’s gaze dropped to Dylan’s sign. “You’ve been doing this for a long time?”
“Sixteen years,” Dylan said. “One day a year at first. Then two. Then whenever Jack stepped out in public.” He nodded toward the stage. “Can’t let him breathe without reminding him someone still remembers the blood.”
Oh.
Lucas stepped closer to him. “Have you ever asked him?”
Dylan huffed a breath. “Ask Jack?”
“Yeah. Confront them about what happened to… H-Hart Whitaker?”
It’s weird calling my dad by his name.
Dylan didn’t answer right away. Then, “They wouldn’t let me near a mic. Not someone with my record.”
Lucas tilted his head. Huh? “Record?”
“I got arrested during the riots. Spent a year in lockup.”
Oh. So that’s why they wouldn’t let him get close to them.
Lucas looked up at Dylan. “Aren’t you scared?”
Dylan looked down at him, his eyes narrowing, “What is there to fear?”
Lucas hesitated, “You know, maybe they would arrest you again and…”
Dylan interrupted him, waving his hands off like it was no big deal. “So what? If I’m going to jail,” his eyes flickered to the stage, “-then I might do it after killing that damn bastard.”
Man. This dude is awesome!
Lucas never had someone who knew Hart talk about him like that. Like he mattered. Like he’d been real.
I wanna know what he’s going to ask Jack. But…
His mind wandered back to Jamie. He was sick. He should go back. But he told Jamie to call him if he needed anything…
Oh well.
Lucas looked toward the stage. “Let me come with you. When it’s your turn.”
Dylan hesitated. Then gave a small nod. “Alright. But it’s a long wait. The line’s wrapped around the damn building.”
Lucas nodded. “I’m not in a rush.”
What am I doing?!
They stood side by side, tucked in a small stretch of sidewalk behind the other citizens waiting to speak.
They kept talking the whole time.
Dylan told him about Hart’s old office, with the dusty chessboard in the corner. How Hart would never let anyone touch it mid-game.
“He trusted people. But never Jack.”
“You knew Jack back then?”
“Everyone knew Jack. He was the snake in the suit. Grew up with power and wanted more.”
Lucas nodded slowly.
Half an hour passed.
The sun began to dip low, turning the streets gold. Their shoes scuffed gravel. The chants blurred into background hum. Lucas kept looking toward the stage. He didn’t even know what he expected.
But he was still waiting.
When the usher finally came through the line and called Dylan's name, Lucas's breath caught in his throat.
About damn time.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wonder when I will get to go home.
Lily walked through the Hawks Enterprises, her heels clicking creating a rhythm.
Three buildings. Over two thousand employees.
And only a handful have seen the daughter of the man who runs it all. Me.
Third building. Top floor. Lily walked through it alone.
For years, she didn’t talk to her family. Just Ash. But now, now that she has returned, she wanted nothing more but to help her family. She changed so much over the span of five months. A sense of belonging did good to her.
And then one day, dad brought her back.
.
.
Please…?
.
.
She sighed.
Now, she was the assistant to one of the most feared and respected businessmen in the region. Her father ran Hawks Enterprises, which managed global import and export networks- commodities, tech parts, automotive supply chains, name it.
The company had three towers, each more intimidating than the last, with employees who could speak five languages and keep six countries moving.
Lily wasn’t just his assistant. She was his second set of eyes.
And almost nobody knew it.
Most thought she was some intern with a sharp tongue and good fashion sense. The ones who mattered knew better. And those who didn’t found out the hard way.
She passed through the lower level of Tower C, sliding her badge across the security gate. Two men in tailored suits stepped aside, murmuring something under their breath.
She ignored it.
She checked her tablet, reviewing today’s meeting: International supply disruption report. Shipping delays out of Taiwan. Forecasts for Q4 demand.
Her phone buzzed.
Dad: They’re all here. Come up when ready.
She didn’t reply. He wouldn’t expect one. That was the thing about her father- he’d stopped trying to pull answers from her long ago.
Lily walked to the elevator and tapped the top floor.
The door was just starting to close when a man slipped in.
Maybe late twenties. Sharp jaw. Too much cologne. A little too confident for someone working on the seventh floor.
He looked at her, smiled.
“Hey there, cutie.”
She didn’t move. Not this again.
He leaned against the side rail casually. “You new here? I haven’t seen you around. Wanna go out with me? I know a place. On me.”
Lily didn’t even glance at him.
In her head, a clock ticked. She studied his badge.
Nathan Collins. Supply Chain Division Lead. Logistics briefs. Smart. Fast. Handled the Taiwan reroutes better than anyone. He’d saved the company hundreds of thousands during the blackout delays.
Impressive asset.
But an idiot.
She said nothing. Just stepped off the elevator as soon as it hit the top floor, leaving him behind smirking to himself.
The conference room was already buzzing when she walked in.
Sixteen people around the table. Men in tailored suits. Two women on screens. Her father sat at the head of the table- calm, in control. He looked at her once.
She took her seat beside him, set down her tablet, and crossed her legs. Nathan Collins was there too. Saw her, smirked.
Well, let’s see who’s the one left smirking at the end of this conference.
They discussed shipment delays. Rising container costs. Port negotiations.
Her father leaned back as the room argued numbers and plans. Then:
“Lily will take this part.”
Lily stood. Here goes nothing.
The room stilled.
She watched every man sit straighter, blink, shift uncomfortably.
And then, she turned.
“Before we discuss Q4 strategy,” she said smoothly, “I’d like to address something… internal.”
Her voice didn’t waver.
Her father didn’t stop her. Didn’t interrupt.
He just watched.
She glanced across the table until her eyes landed on Nathan.
Dead-on.
“Nathan Collins,” she said.
He blinked, confused. “Uh. Yeah?”
“You’re fired.”
The silence cracked like a slap.
“What?”
“You heard me,” she said. “Clear out your desk. Security will escort you after this meeting.”
He stood up, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
“Wait- what the hell is this? What did I even do?”
Oh this is so on.
Lily raised one brow. “You propositioned the boss’s daughter while calling her ‘cutie.’ In public. During office hours.”
Her voice was steel wrapped in silk.
“You just didn’t know it.”
“I didn’t know! That’s not- wait, you can’t just-”
“I can.”
She folded her arms. “I just did.”
“You think you can get rid of me like that? After all I’ve done for this company?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Exactly. You should know better.”
He turned to her father. “Sir? Seriously? You’re going to let her throw away a key player-”
“You’re already gone, Nathan ,” Luke said coolly. “Now sit down and don’t make a scene, or I’ll have you escorted now.”
Nathan’s fists clenched. His jaw worked furiously.
But Lily had already turned back to the table.
“As I was saying,” she said, as if nothing happened, “Q4 forecasts are ready. I suggest we start with the East Asia supply chain, since our Shanghai port is requesting a renegotiation of terms.”
Click. Slide. The screen shifted. Charts appeared.
No one said a word.
They watched her.
Listened.
At the end of the conference, Lily smirked to Nathan. He turned away.
He looks really pissed. That’s good.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s really bad that only one person can go up the stage at once.
Lucas stood just off to the side of the stage- close enough to see everything, but not close enough to be noticed. The concrete under his sneakers felt cracked and old.
His legs ached from standing so long, and he hadn't said a word since Dylan stepped up to the mic. But his silence wasn't calm. It was coiled.
There, under the artificial lights and beside security guards dressed like gentlemen, stood Anthony Jack.
It’s time to tell us the truth.
Lucas’s hands were clenched into fists. Every muscle was tight, every breath held longer than necessary. From this distance, Jack looked almost like a statue- straight posture, white suit, and that signature charming but fake smile. He held the mic with ease.
Dylan’s voice finally rang out.
“You know what I want, Anthony.” Dylan said into the mic, standing tall despite his age.
Jack smiled thinly. “I’m not sure I do, sir. But please- ask your question.”
Bastard. Can't even admit that they were colleagues back then.
Lucas could almost taste the sarcasm in Jack’s voice. It made his stomach turn.
“I want to know,” Dylan said, voice steady, slow, “why you murdered Hart Whitaker and took his place.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd. Several people shifted, some turned to each other, others turned to Jack.
Lucas didn’t breathe. Tell.
Jack’s face didn’t move at first. Then he gave a low chuckle. “That’s quite the accusation. I believe the official report says Hart was mentally unstable. He-”
“Don’t you dare say that,” Dylan snapped. “Don’t you dare rewrite history. We were there. We all knew the kind of man Hart was.”
Lucas’s throat burned. Say it again. Say it louder.
“I stood by his side for seven years,” Dylan continued. “He built Gloucester up from nothing. He made sure every trade, every shipment, every deal was transparent and fair. He trusted you.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “He did. That’s true.”
“And you killed him.”
Say it. Tell us that’s true.
There was silence. Just for a moment. The kind of silence that made your heartbeat sound too loud.
Lucas could feel it. People were listening. Eyes were narrowing. Minds were turning over buried memories.
Jack smiled again, this time more confidently. “You’re emotional. That’s understandable. But let’s not turn a public forum into a trial, sir. The truth is, Hart Whitaker was a troubled man. And when he passed, it was his wish that I- ”
“You think we’ll believe that?”
“I don’t expect you to. But records show-”
“Because you wrote them,” Dylan snapped. “You burnt the files. You paid off the tech guys. You bought cameras and staged everything.”
Jack shrugged. “Bold of you to say that, sir.”
Lucas’s blood boiled. He gripped the side of a rusted metal pole, fingers digging into the cold, rough edge.
Why is he denying everything…? Just admit it.
“And you know what happens when the villain wins?” Dylan’s voice shook now. Lucas looked up to him. Dylan had asked Lucas the same question.
“He rewrites the story until he looks like a hero.”
A beat. A damn pause.
The crowd had grown deathly quiet.
Lucas’s ears rang.
Then a man- Jack’s right-hand probably- stepped forward and spoke into his earpiece. He gestured toward Dylan and said into the mic, “Your time is nearly up, sir. If there’s any last thing you’d like to ask…”
Dylan didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said. “I want to know his last words.”
Jack blinked. Lucas couldn’t breathe.
Last words. What were they? Were they for Jamie? Were they for mom?
Dylan repeated, “You were there, weren’t you? You were the last one with him. So tell me. What were Hart Whitaker’s last words?”
There was a twitch in Jack’s brow. For a moment, his mouth opened and nothing came out. Then-
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said. “But I do know that when Hart was about to go, he called me. And he said to me… he said to me to rule in his place.”
Wait.
Lucas’s heart exploded.
What?
