GHOST OF THE PAST

Lily morgan' point of view:

It kept raining all through my journey home. Heavy drops drummed against my apartment window, rolling down the glass like melting ice. The city outside blurred into streaks of glows and shadow, an unending symphony of lights and secrets. But inside, the air was Stuffy, humid with the weight of the past pressing against my lungs.Ethan Voss's business card sat on my coffee table, daring me to pick it up. I hadn't touched it since I got home, but I could feel its presence, a silent reminder re-echoing in my head that I was now part of something much bigger than I can handle.I leaned back on the worn leather couch, my legs tucked beneath me. My apartment was small, cluttered with old newspapers from past events, half-drunk coffee cups, and books with dog-eared pages. It wasn't much, but it was mine, my refuge from the chaos outside. Or at least, it had been and I was getting used to living.Tonight, the shadows felt closer. The darkness felt so stronger and my heart could feel the doom drawing close as the wall clock ticked. I felt the end was near.I stared at the brown folder Ethan had given me, still unopened beside the card on the table. He had handed me something dangerous. Something that could turn my investigation into a full-blown war. And yet, my fingers hesitated to rush to open the folder.Because I knew what it meant to chase a truth too, its too big to handle and I knew what it would cost.About Five years back, working as an intern journalist. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the sharp tang of printer ink as I flipped through my notes, seated at my usual booth in Benji's Diner, a hole-in-the-wall joint near my old apartment. It had been my sanctuary, until it wasn't comfortable for me anymore.Back then, I wasn't chasing billionaires or unraveling tech empires. I was just a fresh-faced journalist with the intent of doing what was right at the job, barely out of college and hungry for my first real story. And I found it in Jordan Hale, a whistleblower. A man desperate to expose the rot inside city hall.Jordan had been an accountant for a major infrastructure project, a seemingly ordinary guy with a wife, a daughter, and a peaceful life. But he had stumbled into something he shouldn't have, evidence of embezzlement, dirty deals, money laundering, and names that reached high enough to make people disappear into space for good without any form of trace.We had met in secret, always in different locations. He never stayed in one place too long as a system of security as he was haunted from the shadows, always looking over his shoulder, as if he already knew how his story would end."I don't want to die over this," he had told me one night as we met in behind closed door, his voice shaking over the edge of his coffee cup. "I just want them to pay for all their dirty deeds over the innocent who keeps suffering in silence with no one to voice for them." He had always statedI had promised him they would and that I promised him I will protect him.And then, two weeks later, his car exploded in front of his house. I still remembered the smell of burning rubber, the panicked screams of neighbors that chorused in the air. The remains of a man who had trusted me with his life was nothing to be made of right in front of me.The police alleged it a tragic accident, a gas leak. But I knew better and so did the people responsible for the crime.A single text had arrived on my phone that same night from and anonymous sender. "Some truths aren't worth dying for." The text read. That was the first time I truly understood the weight of my profession.That was the night I learned that exposing the truth didn't just put a target on my back, it put one on every loved one around me.As I sat back on my couch in my sober reflection, A shiver crawled down my spine as I forced myself back into the now. The past had a way of sinking its claws into me, dragging me under when I least expected it.But I wasn't that naïve novice anymore. I had learned. I picked up Ethan's folder and flipped it open. Immediately, my breath hitched.Inside were dozens of surveillance photos of Nathan Cross at exclusive meetings, shaking hands with known criminals, slipping into unmarked cars. Some pictures had timestamps, coordinates. Others had scribbled notes in the margins, details of transactions, offshore accounts, whispered conversations caught on hidden mics.Ethan hadn't just given me a lead. He had handed me a loaded riffle and I had no idea why.I reached for my phone, my fingers hovering over the keypad. I wanted to call Ethan, demand answers, but something stopped me. Trust or rather, the lack of it.I didn't trust Ethan Voss, not yet. But I also didn't trust coincidences, and his sudden appearance in my life felt far too convenient.I shut the folder, exhaling slowly.One thing was certain—this wasn't just another exposé. This was war, a battlefield and I had just stepped into the crossfire of the heat of the battle.Hours passed by; I stood outside my apartment building watching the rain still falling in steady sheets. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional car passing by. My mind was racing, I needed answers. I needed to know why Ethan Voss show so much interest about my investigation.I needed to know if he was my ally or if he was setting me up to fall right into the trap of those who wish me death.So, I did the only thing that made sense. I called the number on his card.The phone rang twice before a smooth, controlled voice answered. "Lily." I ignored the familiarity. "Meet me." A pause. "Where?"I glanced around, weighing my options. "The Blue Haven Bar in One hour's time." Another pause. Then, "I'll be there."The call ended, and I bagged my phone. My gut told me I was walking into something dangerous, but danger and I had been well acquainted for years and this time, I wasn't running from it. Its indeed time to face the fear to the face, to grab the bull by the horn.