The next morning came slow and grey, draped in the kind of sky that felt like a warning.
Matherson sat at a dusty diner in Southpoint—the kind of place where secrets stayed buried and the coffee was always bitter. He stirred his cup absently, eyes fixed on the tablet screen in front of him.
Derek Raye.
Financial mogul. CEO of Raye Holdings. Publicly clean. Privately toxic. He was the money man—the one who funneled funds, laundered assets, and made sure blood was washed away with numbers and silence. While Vincent Raye hid in shadows, Derek played in the light. Safe. Untouchable.
Until now.
Matherson leaned back, studying a live feed on the screen. His drone hovered two blocks away, trained on Derek's penthouse. Tight security. Biometric locks. Private elevator. Unmarked guards. The usual paranoia of powerful men with dangerous secrets.
But Matherson wasn't intimidated.
He'd spent five years learning how to dismantle people like this.
He had a plan.
That night, the city glittered like a lie.
At 10:45 p.m., Derek Raye arrived at Club Harlow, a private lounge masquerading as a high-end jazz bar. His smile was slick, suit tailored to perfection, surrounded by men who laughed too loud and women who wore secrets like perfume.
He didn't know someone was watching him from the rooftop across the street.
Matherson, dressed in black, pulled out a small voice recorder from his coat one of his father's old devices. He pressed play.
Mr. Jayson's voice crackled through, recorded years ago:
"They hide behind their money. Behind power. But they bleed like the rest of us. They just think no one's brave enough to cut deep."
Matherson turned it off.
Tonight, someone would bleed.
Inside the club, Derek toasted with his associates, unaware of the eyes that followed his every move. An hour passed. Then he excused himself, walking toward the private lounge in the back.
Matherson was already there.
When Derek stepped inside, the lights flickered. The door clicked shut behind him. Alone.
He froze.
"You've been spending money that doesn't belong to you, Derek."
The voice came from the shadows.
Derek turned quickly, panic rising. "Who the hell are you?"
Matherson stepped forward, unmasked for the first time. "Someone you tried to erase. Someone whose family you burned alive."
Derek's eyes widened. "Wait Jayson's kid? You… you're supposed to be dead."
"Yeah," Matherson said quietly. "So were my sisters. Want to trade stories?"
Derek backed up, reaching for a silent alarm hidden beneath the lounge table. But the table was already rigged Matherson had been in the club hours earlier, disabling everything.
"No guards," Matherson said, pulling a chair out for him. "Just a conversation."
Derek sat, trembling. "Look, I didn't order it. I just handled the accounts. I swear. Vincent he's the one. He's the one you want."
"And where is Vincent now?"
"I—I don't know! He moves constantly. Changes identities. But… but I know someone who can find him. A tech guy. Code name: Ghostbyte. He used to encrypt all our files. If anyone can trace him, it's him."
Matherson stared at Derek, letting the silence stretch.
"Where?"
"Underground club in Shoreline District. Calls himself a DJ, but he's the best hacker alive. Tell him you want to speak to the ghost inside the machine. He'll know."
Matherson stood.
Derek breathed a sigh of relief. "You're letting me go?"
"No."
Matherson walked behind him and whispered, "You financed a massacre. You built your fortune on the ashes of my family. I'm not letting you go. I'm just giving you a head start."
He pulled out a burner phone and placed it on the table.
"Call your guards. Run. I'll be watching."
Then he vanished through the back door, as silent as he had arrived.
Outside, rain started falling again.
Matherson lit a cigarette and looked toward the glowing towers of the Shoreline District. A new name. A new lead.
Ghostbyte.
The closer he got to Vincent Raye, the more dangerous it became.
But Matherson wasn't afraid of danger anymore.
He was born in fire.
And now, he was the flame.