Chapter 6
The basement archives of the Valeon Tower felt like a tomb.
Far below the gleaming marble floors and buzzing glass elevators, the air here was thick with dust and the smell of decaying paper. Row upon row of metal filing cabinets stretched into the darkness, holding decades of corporate secrets.
Ethan walked down the narrow aisles, a flashlight in one hand and a master keycard in the other. Elias walked silently behind him, watching their flanks.
“The digital records only go back fifteen years,” Elias whispered, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls. “If the original purchase order for the East End land still exists, it’s down here in the hard copies.”
Ethan didn’t reply. His jaw was set in stone.
For years, he had believed his mentor, Arthur Valeon—the man who found him in an orphanage, paid for his education, and handed him this empire—was a savior.
Now, Ethan wasn't so sure.
They reached Sector 4. The section dedicated to acquisitions made twenty-four years ago.
“Start pulling files from November,” Ethan ordered, yanking open a rusted metal drawer.
For an hour, they sifted through thousands of yellowed documents. Receipts, tax forms, zoning permits. Nothing about the East End apartments.
Just as Ethan was about to slam a drawer shut in frustration, his flashlight caught something odd.
A folder misfiled in the back of a drawer labeled ‘Charitable Donations’. The folder was thick, sealed with a red wax stamp that had cracked over time.
Ethan pulled it out. The label read: Project Phoenix.
He broke the seal and opened it on top of a cabinet. Elias shined his light directly onto the pages.
There it was.
The original blueprint for the Valeon Financial Tower. But the date on the blueprint was from before the fire.
“They had the designs drawn up while people were still living in those apartments,” Elias muttered, tracing the lines of the building. “They needed that land. But the tenants wouldn’t sell.”
Ethan flipped to the next page. It was a payment ledger.
Payment to R. Willis - $50,000 (Case Expedited)
The detective who wrote the fake police report.
Payment for demolition crew - $20,000
And then, the final line. A line that made Ethan’s blood run ice cold.
Payment to M. Vance for property clearance - $100,000
“Marcus Vance,” Ethan whispered, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. “He wasn't Vice Chairman back then. He was just an acquisition manager.”
“He orchestrated the fire,” Elias concluded softly. “He burned down your home, nearly killed your mother, and used it to climb the corporate ladder.”
Suddenly, a harsh metallic clang echoed through the archives.
The heavy steel door at the end of the aisle had slammed shut. The electronic lock engaged with a loud beep.
Then, the overhead lights flickered and died, plunging the basement into absolute, suffocating darkness.
Only the beam of Ethan’s flashlight pierced the black.
“Elias,” Ethan said, his voice deadly calm.
“Yeah,” Elias replied, drawing a sleek black handgun from his coat. “We’re locked in. And I don’t think we’re alone down here.”
May you like
Footsteps echoed from the far side of the archives. Slow. Deliberate. Heavy boots on concrete.
Marcus Vance knew they were looking. And he was not going to let them leave this basement alive.
