Chapter 137: The WEB!!
Afternoon — Star Harbor
Miles steered his car into the hotel’s front drive, the polished glass building towering above like a shard of the sky. He eased to a stop, and before the engine even quieted, the passenger door opened.
Ray slid in, settling back with the calm confidence of a man who’d spent a lifetime in command. He glanced at Miles, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.
"It’s good to see you after a long time, little bud," Ray said.
Miles shot him a look, a small smirk on his lips. "Come on, Commander. Call me Miles."
"Right. Miles," Ray corrected, though the warmth in his voice lingered. "So, where are we going?"
"For lunch, of course." Miles’s tone was casual, but his eyes stayed sharp on the road. "We have serious matters to discuss."
Ray’s expression shifted, serious for a beat before softening again. "Yes... we do. But first—I’m hungry."
Miles allowed himself a small chuckle as the car pulled up to the hotel’s gates. The valet staff hurried forward with practiced efficiency, bowing slightly. Miles stepped out, handed over his keys, and was greeted with respectful nods.
The two men walked through the glass doors into the grand lobby, the air filled with the faint hum of music and the scent of polished wood and expensive perfume.
From across the hall, Daniel spotted them and quickly approached, his face lighting with curiosity. "Hey, son. Are we having a guest today?"
Miles turned slightly. "Father, meet Ray. He was my mentor growing up."
Daniel’s gaze sharpened with respect as he extended his hand. "Hello, Mr. Ray. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for taking care of Miles."
Ray clasped his hand firmly, a rare smile crossing his face. "Hello, Mr. Daniel. Nice to meet you too. And this place—" he gestured lightly to the elegant surroundings— "it’s quite something you’re running here."
Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s his mother who runs it. I just help where I can."
Ray’s smile widened slightly, approving.
Miles cleared his throat gently. "Dad, could you arrange a private room for lunch?"
"Of course," Daniel said without hesitation.
He called over a staff member, who quickly bowed and guided them down a quiet hallway. The noise of the lobby faded behind them as they entered a polished, softly lit private room.
Miles and Ray took their seats, comfortable yet carrying the weight of men who both knew the light conversation was only a curtain before what truly mattered.
Ray watched Miles with the careful look of a man measuring every angle. "So what’s the secret?" he asked finally.
Miles blinked. "What?"
Ray tapped the table, as if nudging open a thought. "All this wealth. When I was digging through files, your family didn’t look like this once. Not many luxuries. I remember thinking—how did you pull this off?"
Miles folded his hands, casual. "I invested my savings back when I was still doing merc work."
Ray laughed, flat and incredulous. "Really? I don’t buy that. But it’s your business. I won’t pry."
Miles let the smile linger. "Let’s order then. What do you want?"
Ray shrugged. "It’s your restaurant. Surprise me."
Miles called over a server. "Bring us a few things. Something the house does best."
The staff bowed and disappeared.
Ray leaned in, voice dropping. "On a different note... one of our China ops turned up something. We caught a few guys with those spider tattoos."
The air went colder, even in the private room. Miles sat straighter without fuss.
"Where are they now?" he asked.
"In custody. We gave them Graveyard hospitality." Ray’s mouth hardened. "One finally talked."
Miles didn’t move a muscle. He listened.
"They call themselves The Web." Ray’s words were slow. "An organisation. Runs in the shadows—money laundering, trafficking, tech stuff. Everything is messy."
"The Web?" Miles echoed. "Like a spider web."
"Exactly." Ray shrugged. "Not something we bump into often. They operate where our people rarely go."
Miles let that sit. "Then why didn’t I hear about them before?"
Ray’s jaw worked. "First question I asked. My take—the previous command kept a lot close. Too secretive. He might have known more than he told us."
Miles’s patience thinned just enough to feel dangerous. "So what’s next?"
"We can’t rush a phantom," Ray said. "Graveyard needs to map them cleanly. Let us do the groundwork. I’ll let you in on the op when it’s time."
"It’s been years," Miles said. "I don’t want to wait more days."
"Calm down," Ray said. "A few more days. Let us pin them first."
Miles sighed. "All right. Do me one favour. Give me a copy of everything you’ve got on The Web."
Ray’s eyes narrowed. "What will you do with it?"
Miles’s smile had that quiet edge. "I have resources too. I helped you with Dion, remember?"
Ray considered. Then he nodded. "I’ll get you access. But promise me—no solo moves. Not until I say go."
Miles exhaled. "Fine."
They let the pause sit. The quiet in the room shifted into something softer as the server returned with covers. The aroma rolled over them—spices, slow-cooked meat, vegetables. Miles peeled back a lid on one dish and his hand paused on a sticky note tucked on the rim.
"Thanks for taking care of my beautiful boy all these years. This is especially for you. I expect to meet you after your lunch. Enjoy. — Elena."
Miles’ mouth twitched into a small, real smile. "My mother," he said.
Ray peered at the plate and inhaled. "That smells tempting."
Miles jabbed him with a grin. "You jealous?"
Ray gave a gruff chuckle, the kind that meant something like affection without the words. "Maybe a little."
They began to eat. The food was good enough to quiet the edge in both of them for a while—rich, honest flavours that sat against the weight of the conversation like a small, stubborn relief.
Around the table, the private room hummed with the soft clinks of cutlery and the low cadence of two men who had known war and loss and now, in the pause between orders and operational planning, were allowed the simplest thing: a proper meal.
Citadel City — ACE Group Headquarters
Diane stepped into the office carrying a slim folder. "Here, the report."
Silvey leaned back in the chair behind her polished desk, stretching her legs before reaching out lazily. "Thanks."
She flipped the cover open, her sharp eyes scanning the first page. Across the top, in bold letters, it read: ACE Finances.
Her brow furrowed. "Why is the growth rate not climbing? It’s lower than last month."
Diane clasped her hands. "Several factors, miss. Mr. Kyle didn’t approve the marketing fund last month. On top of that, he diverted approvals toward... other interests."
Silvey looked up, unimpressed. "His ’other interests,’ huh."
"And," Diane continued carefully, "there’s also a sudden spike in competition."
"Competition?" Silvey arched a brow.
"Yes. A firm called Joker Finances. They appeared almost out of nowhere and snapped up new opportunities. Their strategies are—frankly—aggressive." Diane hesitated, lowering her voice. " The Reaper’s moves in the market are more tactical, more precise. Together, it puts real pressure on ACE."
Silvey’s lips curved, half amusement, half irritation. "Really? I thought that was just a joke"
"It was," Diane admitted. "But their performance last month... It was remarkable."
Silvey let the report drop against the desk with a soft slap. "So he is out there playing with Uncle Kyle. Outmaneuvering him." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Where is Uncle Kyle anyway?"
Diane shook her head. "No one’s seen him in a week."
A sharp laugh escaped Silvey’s throat. "Is he trying to lose the inheritance already?"
Diane’s face tightened. "If ACE Finances shows losses this year, there will be consequences. The board will not look kindly on it."
Silvey leaned back, almost smug, a glint in her eyes. "Let it be. That’s all I want."
Her words hung in the sleek office, cold and decisive, as if Kyle’s downfall was just another line item in her plans.
Somewhere in the Corner of the World
The room was dark, the only light spilling from a single lamp over a cluttered desk. A figure sat there, hunched, pencil scratching furiously across paper. Lines twisted and curved, forming something monstrous, something that seemed to crawl off the page.
A knock broke the silence.
"Come in," the person said without looking up.
The door creaked open. A man stepped in, bowing slightly. His voice was measured, but uneasy. "Princess... some of our agents in China have disappeared."
The hand holding the pencil froze. Slowly, the figure lifted her head, the shadow of her face stretching long in the dim glow.
"Disappeared?" Her tone was flat, curious. "Did they run away?"
"I don’t think so," the man said carefully. "Their families are still under watch, and they know what that means. Someone took them."
There was silence. Then, slowly, a smile pulled across the shadowed face. A soft chuckle spilled out, rising into a sharp, manic laugh.
"Interesting... huuun... interesting."
The laugh echoed off the walls, high and twisted, until it cut suddenly short. She leaned forward, eyes glinting in the dark.
"Find out who did it," she ordered. Her voice was calm now, but heavy with promise.
"Princess had not yet played her game."
The man bowed quickly. "Yes, Princess."
The figure pushed away from the desk, tossing the sheet of paper onto the floor. It landed face up.
The drawing stared back at them—a grotesque, terrible monster, all teeth and shadow, born from the lines of her mind.