Sylvia Sterling's apartment wasn't large, with simple furnishings that seemed almost sparse. The most abundant items were books and documents, neatly arranged on bookshelves and in one corner of the coffee table, revealing the owner's meticulous personality.

A faint coffee aroma permeated the air, mixed with subtle traces of ink and paper.


James Morgan stood in the center of the living room, not immediately sitting down. His gaze quickly swept across the entire space, assessing the environment and searching for potential dangers.

Seven years of prison habits made it impossible for him to relax in any unfamiliar environment.

Sylvia Sterling was still shaken, her fingers trembling slightly. She poured a glass of water for James Morgan, placed it on the coffee table, then hugged another cup herself, curling up in the corner of the sofa, drawing in that tiny, insignificant warmth.


"Thank you," she said in a low voice, hoarse from her brush with death.

James didn't acknowledge her gratitude. His question pierced straight to the core like an ice-cold nail: "That photograph—where did it come from?"


Sylvia raised her head and looked at James.

The man before her was much thinner than seven years ago, his features more defined, with a lingering gloom and sharpness settled between his brows and eyes.

The shadow of the once spirited young entrepreneur had blurred, replaced by a restrained, dangerous aura that seemed ready to lash out at any moment. Only those eyes, deep black like ink, with flames burning inside, faintly retained traces of who he once was.

"Seven years ago, on the day of your incident," Sylvia Sterling took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady, "I wasn't just there to cover the wedding. I also wanted to do a feature on young entrepreneurs. So, a few days in advance, I managed to obtain backup surveillance footage from the public areas of the Morgan Building, including that underground parking garage, for nearly a month."

James Morgan's pupils contracted slightly. He hadn't expected this to be the source.

"Initially, I just wanted to learn more about your and Victor Shaw's daily work routines." Sylvia paused, her voice noticeably faltering when mentioning Victor Shaw's name. "After your arrest, I felt something wasn't right. Shaw's testimony was too perfect, too... timely. I retrieved those recordings again and examined them frame by frame. Then, at that specific time, I discovered this screenshot."

"Why didn't you give it to the police back then?" James's voice was cold and hard. If this photo had been available then, the case might have taken a different turn.

A trace of bitterness and helplessness flashed across Sylvia Sterling's face. "I tried. But my direct supervisor, who was also the chief editor responsible for reporting this case, scolded me, saying I was delusional for wanting to reopen a case based on just one blurry photo. He said the police evidence chain was flawless, and Victor Shaw was a righteous whistleblower. And..." She bit her lip. "Just when I was preparing to report to higher authorities, my computer hard drive suddenly crashed, and all backup data, including the original surveillance footage, was lost. All that remained were these few key frames I had printed out in advance."

Computer damage? Backups lost? James Morgan's heart sank. This was definitely not a coincidence.

"I realized someone didn't want me to continue investigating. Later, I was marginalized at the newspaper for persisting with the investigation, and eventually had to leave." Sylvia looked at James, her eyes filled with complex emotions. "I kept this photo because I believed the truth would eventually come to light. I also... always wanted to find an opportunity to ask you in person—is that you in the photo or not?"

"No." James Morgan's answer was decisive, without a hint of hesitation. "That night, I never saw Victor Shaw."

Although she had expected this, hearing James deny it in person still made Sylvia Sterling breathe a sigh of relief, only to be immediately enveloped by an even greater chill.

If not James, then who could it be? Why would Victor Shaw fabricate such a meeting? That USB drive probably contained the "irrefutable evidence" that could destroy James Morgan.

"Victor Shaw..." Sylvia murmured, her voice carrying a trace of barely detectable fear. "He's even more dangerous than you imagine. By saving me today, you might have already attracted his attention."

James walked to the window, pulling the curtain open a narrow crack, vigilantly observing the area below. The night was deep, and the neighborhood seemed to have returned to calm, but that escaped black sedan was like a thorn stuck in his heart.

"Those people—were they sent by Victor Shaw?" he asked.

"I don't know." Sylvia Sterling shook her head. "But I've been investigating something recently that might have touched on certain interests. A subsidiary company under Prosperity Group is suspected of being involved in illegal fundraising. I've collected some materials... perhaps they discovered what I was doing."

She stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took out an ordinary manila envelope from a hidden compartment in what looked like a decorative box, then handed it to James Morgan.

"This is what I've found so far. It's not much, but it might be useful to you."

James Morgan took the envelope but didn't open it immediately. He looked at Sylvia Sterling, this woman who had persisted for seven years because of what might be considered an insignificant belief, and had even put herself in danger because of it.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his gaze piercing as if trying to see into her heart. "Simply because you believe I was wrongfully accused?"

Sylvia Sterling met his gaze without flinching. Her eyes were bright, like obsidian soaked in ice water.

"My father was once a middle manager at Morgan Corporation," she said softly, revealing information James Morgan had not anticipated. "The year of your arrest, he refused to sign a document that Victor Shaw requested because he insisted there were problems with the accounts. Shortly after, he was dismissed on false charges, fell into depression, and passed away two years ago. On his deathbed, he kept mumbling that the company accounts didn't add up, saying you weren't that kind of person."

James Morgan was stunned. He had never paid attention to the comings and goings of a middle manager in the company, let alone known there was such a story behind it. The threads of fate, it seemed, had entangled different people without their knowledge.

He looked at Sylvia Sterling, seeing the deep sorrow hidden in her eyes and a resilience that didn't match her appearance. This persistence wasn't just for the truth—it also carried an obsession to clear her father's name.

"Does Victor Shaw know your identity?" he asked.

"Probably not. I took my mother's surname, and my father always kept a low profile at the company," Sylvia said. "But after today, it's hard to say."

James Morgan remained silent for a moment before putting away the document folder. "I'll take these with me. You should..." he paused, "move to a different place and be careful these days."

Sylvia Sterling nodded, a trace of weariness appearing on her face.

James didn't say anything more and turned toward the door. As he pulled it open, Sylvia's voice came from behind him again, carrying a desperate resolve.

"James," she said, "if you're going after Victor Shaw, count me in."

James didn't stop walking or look back, only leaving a calm remark.

"Keep yourself safe first."

The door closed gently, separating the spaces inside and outside. Sylvia leaned back weakly against the sofa and closed her eyes.

Everything that happened today was too intense, but the sense of pressure and strange feeling of reliability that man brought had given her chaotic emotions a faint anchor point.

Outside the door, James had not left immediately. He stood in the silent hallway, his back against the cold wall, the document folder gripped tightly in his hand.

Sylvia's father's incident, the car accident, today's attack... Victor Shaw's reach was longer and dirtier than he had imagined.

The photos, the USB drive, the body double... The seven-year-old mystery not only remained unsolved but had become even more perplexing and dangerous with Sylvia's appearance and the information she brought.

But he had no way to retreat.

Victor Shaw was in the light, while he was in the shadows. This was his only advantage now.

He must use this advantage well, like a venomous snake lurking in the abyss, waiting for the right moment to strike a fatal blow.

He took out the burner phone and dialed Gregory Gould's number.

"Uncle Gould, it's me. I need another favor from you..."

The night was thick, and the city lights couldn't illuminate all the corners.

A silent war had just begun.

And James Morgan knew that while he was watching Victor Shaw, there was also a pair—or perhaps many pairs—of eyes hidden in the darkness, watching him.