Chapter 35: Council of Smoke

Johannesburg, South Africa – Mamba Vault, 80 Meters Below Ground – 2:14 A.M.

The city above slept in uneasy silence, unaware of the chaos brewing beneath its diamond-lit skyline. Hidden far below one of Sandton's luxury skyscrapers, in a former gold reserve turned clandestine war room, seven figures sat in a circle—each draped in tailored suits, their faces half-lit by the glow of a plasma fireplace.

This was no ordinary boardroom. This was the Mamba Vault, reserved for matters the world wasn't meant to know.

Damien stood at the far end, flanked by two trusted allies—Alyssa Zhang, his tech strategist from Hong Kong, and Idris Mbeki, a former intelligence asset turned financial magnate. Across from him sat people whose empires could ruin nations with a single whisper.

One of them was bleeding.

"You've been compromised," Damien said coldly, eyes on Lorenzo Vega—the Venezuelan oil prince whose corporation was once aligned with Damien's.

Lorenzo clutched his side, the blood seeping through his custom silk. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I only passed encrypted trade data—nothing more."

"Encrypted to you," Idris snapped. "Wide open to the Blackridge Group."

There was a moment of stillness. Then Alyssa tossed a file on the table. It contained photographs, bank records, and one undeniable message:

Lorenzo Vega had betrayed the Global Trade Accord for a personal bailout deal.

"You just sold half of Latin America's stability for a yacht and a new identity," Alyssa hissed. "You've endangered millions."

Damien leaned in, voice like a razor. "This is what happens when trust is treated like currency."

He pulled a sleek pen from his pocket. Pressed a button.

A door behind Lorenzo opened.

Two silent guards stepped in. No one said a word. They didn't have to.

As Lorenzo was escorted out, he didn't resist. He simply whispered, "You don't know what Archer promised us..."

Damien's eyes hardened. "Promises from a ghost don't count."

Zurich, Switzerland – Midnight Courier Network HQ

Nora moved through corridors of marble and glass, the sound of her heels masked by the hush of servers beneath her. She had come here alone—against Damien's wishes—but she needed answers.

Inside a vault protected by retina scans and old family bloodlines, she retrieved a sealed package left by her mother twelve years ago.

Inside it:

A gold chain

A letter addressed to "My Heiress"

And a datapad containing names—hundreds of them

People from every continent. Politicians. Scientists. Military figures. Billionaires.

And each one had something in common.

They were either dead... or about to be.

Nora's hands trembled as she read the final line in the file:

"Activate Project Rebirth."

Her mother wasn't just leaving her a legacy. She was leaving her a weapon.

Tavara – Damien's Private Command Center

"Vega's exposure sent waves through our allies," Idris reported. "Half of Southeast Asia's markets have frozen. Russian syndicates are pulling funds. Africa's southern bloc wants answers."

Damien turned to the massive screen showing a slowly shifting web of alliances and betrayals. At its center was Archer Grey—still unconfirmed, still pulling strings.

"We need to divide," Damien said.

Nora's voice echoed through the secured channel. "I agree."

"You go east," he continued. "Uncover what your mother started. I'll move west—neutralize Archer's funding and cut off his reach."

"You sure about this?" she asked.

"No," Damien admitted. "But the world won't wait for us to feel ready."