The black sedan had left a lingering scent of expensive perfume and ozone in the air, a reminder that the world of high-level bureaucracy was far more lethal than a high school hallway. I stood in the center of the workshop, the dim lighting catching the dust that refused to settle. Butch was already moving, hauling out a rusted engine block, but I was focused on the digital weight in my palm.
I cracked my knuckles, the Intellect-driven interface of the System overlaying the raw data with a series of heat maps. The "three million" wasn't missing in a single lump sum; it had been bled out through a thousand paper cuts—micro-transactions disguised as "consultation fees," "equipment depreciation," and "logistical overhead."
[ INTELLECTIVE ANALYSIS ACTIVATED ]
[ SCANNING FINANCIAL ARCHITECTURES... ]
As I scrolled through the encrypted CSV files, my eyes began to burn with the violet light of the System. My mind, now capable of processing complex algorithmic patterns that would take a forensic accountant months to decode, spotted a recurring signature. It wasn't a name in the traditional sense. It was a digital fingerprint left in the metadata of every diverted payment.
"S. VALENTINE."
The name appeared in the hidden notes of wire transfers to shell companies in the Caymans. It was tucked into the "Approved By" lines of forged invoices. But here was the kicker: according to the official Rokehurst payroll, there was no S. Valentine.
"Butch," I called out, my voice raspy. "Look at this."
Butch leaned over, squinting at the screen. "Valentine? Sounds like a stage name. You think it's a front for the contractor?"
"No," I said, my fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard as I bypassed the local firewall. "The contractor is a blunt instrument. He's a guy who steals bags of cash from a safe. This? This is surgical. S. Valentine isn't a front. She's a ghost. She's been living inside the city's server for three years, skimming the cream off every major project before the money even hits the bank."
I ran a deep-web search, cross-referencing the "S. Valentine" signature with historical data. The System dinged, a gold notification flashing in my peripheral vision.
[ ANOMALY DETECTED: HIGH-LEVEL CRYPTOGRAPHIC SIGNATURE MATCHED ]
[ PROFILE: SYLVIA VALENTINE. DECEASED (OFFICIAL RECORDS: 2018) ]
My blood ran cold. According to the records, Sylvia Valentine was a brilliant systems architect who had died in a car accident four years ago. But her digital ghost was currently robbing Rokehurst blind.
"She's not dead," I whispered. "She's underground. And she's the one Diana Vance is actually looking for."
I spent the next six hours tracing the ghost. Every time I got close, the trail would loop back on itself, a classic "mirror-trap" in the code designed to fry the hardware of anyone snooping. But I had the System. I didn't just see the code; I felt the intent behind it.
I saw her style. It was elegant, ruthless, and filled with a strange kind of vanity. She left "Easter eggs" in the ledgers—tiny jokes at the expense of the bureaucrats.
"You're good, Sylvia," I muttered, a smirk tugging at my lips. "But you're using a 256-bit encryption that I just learned how to crack in my sleep."
By 4:00 AM, I had her. I hadn't just found the three million; I had found her current location. She wasn't in the Caymans or Switzerland. She was right here, using a high-speed node hidden inside the Rokehurst Public Library—the very place I had humiliated Brad.
[ NEW QUEST STAGE: THE LADY'S GAMBIT ]
[ OBJECTIVE: CONFRONT OR RECRUIT THE GHOST (SYLVIA VALENTINE) ]
[ REWARD: 500 INTELLECT XP / POTENTIAL CHIEF TECHNOLOGY OFFICER ]
This was the puzzle piece. If I turned her in to Diana Vance, I'd get my workshop legalized. But if I recruited her... I wouldn't just have a workshop. I'd have a weapon that could level the financial playing field for "Chaycer Industries."
"I need to get to the library," I said, grabbing my charcoal jacket.
"Now?" Butch asked, rubbing his eyes. "Lucas, it's four in the morning. The library is closed."
"For people without keys, it's closed," I said, feeling the Behemoth energy surging. "But Sylvia is in there. And if I don't get to her before Diana's scouts do, the future of this company dies with her."
As I stepped out into the pre-dawn fog, the System flashed a final warning.
[ WARNING: HOST IS APPROACHING A HIGH-LEVEL INTELLECTUAL CONFRONTATION ]
[ ESTIMATED SUCCESS RATE: 55% ]
I didn't care about the percentage. I was tired of playing by the rules of people like Diana Vance. It was time to meet the ghost who had been haunting my ledgers. If I could tame the siren of the code, the world wouldn't just see me as a "lucky trader." They'd see me as the man who owned the truth.