I met him where the city was quiet.
Not in an office.
Not under bright lights.
But in a private lounge tucked above the noise, where power came to drink without witnesses.
He was already there when I arrived.
Standing by the window. Hands in his pockets. Watching the city like it owed him something.
"You shouldn't have come alone," he said without turning around.
"I don't do helpless," I replied calmly.
That made him smile.
He finally faced me.
He looked exactly as I remembered.
Sharper than before. Older. More dangerous.
The man I once ignored because he never flattered me. Never begged for my trust.
"You're moving faster than I expected," he said, sitting across from me. "Audits. Legal pressure. Forcing the board's hand."
"I don't waste second chances," I replied.
He studied my face, slow and thoughtful.
"They're panicking."
"Good."
"They'll strike back."
"I know."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he leaned forward.
"I was there," he said quietly. "Five years ago."
My breath stilled.
"At the signing," he continued. "I warned you not to trust him."
I looked away.
In my past life, I hadn't listened.
"I also watched," he added, "as everything you built disappeared."
I met his gaze again. "And you did nothing?"
His eyes darkened.
"I did what I could without exposing myself. Quietly. From the outside."
I believed him.
I always had.
That was the tragedy.
—
"What do you want?" I asked.
"To finish what you started," he replied. "And to make sure they don't touch you again."
I considered him carefully.
Trust was expensive.
But so was war.
"You'll get no credit," I said. "No praise."
"I don't want either."
"And if this ends badly?"
He smiled faintly. "It won't."
I extended my hand.
He didn't shake it.
Instead, he placed his hand over mine, firm and steady.
A promise.
—
"They're hiding funds," he said, pulling out a tablet. "Offshore. Layered. Complicated."
I scanned the files quickly.
Clean. Detailed. Dangerous.
"This is enough to destroy them."
"Yes," he said. "But not yet."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Let them expose themselves more. Desperate people confess without knowing."
I smiled slowly.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
—
When I returned home, my phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
They're blaming each other now.
I deleted the message without replying.
I didn't need updates.
I had control.
—
That night, as I lay in bed, I felt something unfamiliar.
Not fear.
Not rage.
Relief.
For the first time in two lives, I wasn't fighting alone.