The Betrayal

The rooftop was silent. The only sound was my breathing—deep, steady. Blood dripped from my side, soaking into my shirt. The knife wound was shallow, but it burned.

Elias Richter lay at my feet, motionless. His body was already cooling. The man who had ruled the underworld from the shadows for decades was now just another corpse.

I should've felt something. Satisfaction. Relief.

But there was nothing.

Just the quiet realization that killing one man wouldn't change the world.

And that this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

I pulled the knife from Richter's chest and wiped it clean on his expensive suit. His dead eyes stared up at the night sky, frozen in disbelief. He had gone out thinking he was untouchable.

They all did.

I searched his pockets. A phone. A wallet.

And a key.

I pocketed everything, then stepped away from the body. The city stretched out below—neon lights, traffic, life moving on as if nothing had happened.

I had maybe three minutes before someone came looking for Richter.

Time to go.

I made my way down the fire escape, careful not to leave a trail. When I reached the alley, I pulled out Richter's phone. Locked. Figures.

I shoved it back in my pocket and kept moving.

I needed to disappear.

I made it to my safehouse—a rundown apartment on the east side of the city. One bedroom, barely furnished, but it served its purpose.

I stripped off my bloodied shirt and examined the wound in the mirror. The cut wasn't deep, but it would need stitches.

I grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and got to work. No anesthetic. Just a needle, thread, and the kind of pain you get used to after a while.

I'd been through worse.

By the time I finished, the bleeding had stopped, but exhaustion was setting in. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Richter's phone.

I turned it over in my hands.

Whatever was on it—it was important.

Richter had been powerful, but he wasn't the top of the food chain. He worked for someone. Or something bigger.

And this phone might tell me who.

I needed to get it unlocked.

The next day, I paid a visit to someone who could help.

Nate Carter—an ex-hacker who now ran a small electronics repair shop as a front. He owed me a favor.

I walked into his shop, the bell jingling.

He looked up from behind the counter, squinting. "Well, well. Haven't seen you in a while."

I tossed Richter's phone onto the counter. "Can you crack it?"

Nate picked it up, turning it over. "Where'd you get this?"

"You don't want to know."

He smirked. "Fair enough."

He took it to the back room. I leaned against the counter, waiting.

Five minutes later, he returned. "Bad news. This thing's encrypted. Military-grade. Whoever owned this wasn't playing around."

I expected that. "Can you break it?"

"Given enough time? Maybe. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk it. Whoever this belonged to—someone's gonna come looking for it."

I already knew that.

I handed him a roll of cash. "Work fast."

He nodded. "Come back in twenty-four hours."

That was time I didn't have.

I stepped out of the shop and lit a cigarette. My mind was already racing.

Richter was dead. His empire would be scrambling. Someone would try to take his place.

The power vacuum wouldn't last long.

I needed to act before the next kingpin stepped in.

The phone was the key.

But until Nate cracked it, I had nothing to go on.

Except the key I found in Richter's pocket.

I pulled it out, examining it.

Small. Metal. Numbered. A locker key.

For what?

Storage unit? Safe deposit box?

Only one way to find out.

I spent the next few hours checking every storage facility in the city. It wasn't easy. These places didn't just hand out information. But with a little persuasion—and a few threats—I found what I was looking for.

Locker 214.

I stood in front of it, key in hand. The storage unit was in a rundown facility on the outskirts of the city. Barely any security.

I slid the key into the lock. Turned it.

The door creaked open.

Inside—

A single metal case, sitting on the floor.

Nothing else.

I picked it up and carried it outside. Popped the latches.

Inside the case—

Stacks of cash. A gun. And a flash drive.

I ignored the money. Took the flash drive.

This was it.

Whatever Richter was involved in—this was the evidence.

I went back to my apartment. Locked the door behind me.

Plugged the flash drive into my laptop.

A single file.

I opened it.

And what I saw changed everything.

Documents. Names. Transactions.

Richter wasn't just a drug kingpin.

He was financing something bigger.

Weapons. Smuggling. Human trafficking.

And at the very top of the list—

A name I recognized.

One I never expected to see.

One that made my blood run cold.

I leaned back, staring at the screen.

So that's how deep this went.

Richter was just the beginning.

There was someone above him.

Someone I knew.

Someone I once trusted.

I clenched my fists.

"This isn't over," I muttered.

Not even close.

---

The name on the screen sent a chill down my spine.

Leon Mercer.

My former mentor. The man who taught me everything I knew. The man I once considered family.

And now, the man who was running the entire operation.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers gripping the laptop. My brain struggled to process the weight of the revelation. Leon had always been powerful, always had connections, but this?

Weapons. Drugs. Human trafficking.

This wasn't just organized crime—this was global.

I clicked through the files, scanning numbers, transactions, shipments. Leon wasn't just financing operations—he was controlling them. Every major player in the underworld? They weren't just competitors.

They were working for him.

And I just killed one of his top lieutenants.

I leaned back in my chair, heart pounding. I had spent years running from my past, thinking I was free. But the past wasn't done with me.

And now, Leon Mercer knew I was coming for him.