The anonymous text message was like a thorn stuck in James Morgan's nerve endings. He couldn't determine who sent this warning, whether they were friend or foe, or what their purpose was.

But the word "shadow," like a key, continuously attempted to unlock that tightly shut door in his memory about that night seven years ago.


He became more cautious, as if walking through a minefield. His contact with Gregory Gould was reduced to a minimum, and he changed their meeting locations.

To Captain Wilson's subtle probing, he consistently maintained just the right amount of dullness and submissiveness, as if he truly were just a new security guard desperately working to make ends meet.

The internal investigation storm within the Group continued, and the atmosphere remained tense.


Two more employees from the Finance Department had been "reassigned" from their positions, and the IT Department was working overtime, reportedly rebuilding some server logs that had been "accidentally" deleted. Victor Shaw's fury hung like a storm cloud over the entire Prosperity Group.

James Morgan observed coldly from the sidelines. The more intensely Shaw reacted, the more it proved that he had touched on something core, and also demonstrated his inner fear. A truly secure ruler wouldn't mobilize such forces over the slightest disturbance.


That day, near the weekend, James Morgan was assigned to work the night shift. The Prosperity Building at night had shed its daytime hustle and bustle, leaving only cold lights and empty corridors, so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

His patrol route included some public areas of the main building. When he reached the stairwell near the executive office area on the top floor, he vaguely heard suppressed arguing coming from above.

The sound came from outside the emergency exit door, seemingly from the direction of Victor Shaw's office.

He immediately stopped, concealed himself in the shadows, and held his breath.

"...you must clean this up as soon as possible! I don't want any more accidents!" It was Victor Shaw's voice, filled with barely contained rage, completely different from his usual calm public image.

"I understand, President Shaw. But the other party is very cunning, they've cleaned up their traces thoroughly, and we're not sure if they still have backups." Another voice spoke up, somewhat familiar, tinged with flattery and fear.

James Morgan recognized it carefully—it was the deputy director of the group's security department, a man who was absolutely loyal to Victor Shaw.

"Not certain?" Victor Shaw's voice suddenly rose, then sharply lowered, as if afraid of being overheard. "What am I paying you all for?! Find them! Dig three feet into the ground if you have to, but find this person! By any means necessary!"

"Yes, yes! We're already investigating everyone who could possibly have accessed the internal audit information, including property management and outsourced staff..."

"Everyone!" Victor Shaw interrupted him, his tone ominous. "Anyone suspicious—better to kill wrongly than to let them escape!"

Footsteps sounded as the security deputy director hurriedly departed.

James Morgan pressed himself against the cold wall, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. The "person" Victor Shaw referred to was undoubtedly the one conducting the internal audit. He was indeed frantically searching, and his methods would become increasingly unrestrained.

Only Victor Shaw's heavy breathing remained in the stairwell. After a moment came the sound of a lighter igniting, and a faint smell of cigarette smoke drifted down.

At that moment, the walkie-talkie in James Morgan's pocket suddenly emitted a faint static noise, which he immediately silenced. But in the quiet of night, this sound seemed particularly jarring.

The movement above instantly stopped.

"Who's there?" Victor Shaw's cold voice came from above, carrying an undeniable authority.

James Morgan's muscles tensed as his mind raced. Running away would only confirm suspicion, while staying meant facing Victor Shaw's direct scrutiny. In a split second, he made his decision.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his expression to show a hint of frightened unease, and stepped out from the shadows, keeping his head slightly bowed as he looked up toward the landing of the stairs.

"P-President Shaw? It's me, from the property security department, doing my night patrol." His voice carried just the right amount of nervousness and reverence.

Victor Shaw stood at the edge of the staircase landing, looking down at him from above. Smoke curled between his fingers, the dim light casting deep shadows across his face, those eyes sharp as an eagle's, seemingly able to pierce through the flesh and gaze directly into the soul.

James Morgan could feel that gaze like a physical thing, scanning over every inch of his body. He maintained his posture of bowed head and bent body, his heart pounding in his chest, but his face showed only the humility and unease befitting "Security Guard James."

Time seemed to freeze.

After a few seconds, Victor Shaw slowly spoke, his voice revealing no emotion: "Night patrol? Coming all the way up here?"

"Sir, President Shaw, I... I heard some movement from upstairs, and was concerned about potential security risks, so I came up to check," James's voice carried a slight tremor, his explanation perfectly reasonable.

Victor Shaw said nothing, just continued to examine him. That gaze carried scrutiny, suspicion, and also the indifference typical of those in power toward the insignificant insects beneath them.

James Morgan could even smell the scent of premium tobacco in the air, mixed with the cold, woody cologne that Victor Shaw habitually wore.

This distance, this angle, he had once been so familiar with. They had walked arm in arm, had enjoyed drinks together, had regarded each other as their most trusted brothers.

But now, one looked down from the clouds, while the other crawled in the dust.

The poisonous flames of hatred burned wildly at the bottom of his heart, almost burning through his rationality. But he clenched his teeth tightly, suppressing all his emotions into a deathly silent frozen plain.

"Did you hear something?" Victor Shaw finally spoke again, his tone flat yet carrying an invisible pressure.

James Morgan looked up, his face showing pure bewilderment and a hint of fear: "I... I didn't hear clearly, it seemed like someone was talking, but maybe not. I might have misheard, President Shaw. I'm sorry for disturbing you!"

He acted like a nervous security guard who might have experienced auditory hallucinations and was afraid to take responsibility.

Victor Shaw stared at him for a few more seconds, his sharp gaze seemingly trying to detect any trace of pretense on his face. But James Morgan's performance was flawless; seven years in prison had molded him into the best actor possible.

Finally, the scrutiny in Victor's eyes gradually faded, replaced by a barely perceptible hint of boredom and contempt. He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly.

"You may go. Do your job, don't listen to what you shouldn't hear, and don't go where you shouldn't be."

"Yes! Yes! Thank you, President Shaw!" James bowed repeatedly as if granted a great pardon, then quickly turned and descended the stairs. His steps were steady without any sign of panic, but the back of his shirt was already soaked with cold sweat.

Only after leaving the main building and returning to the empty parking lot, with the cold night breeze brushing against his face, did he allow himself to slightly relax his tense nerves.

In that moment just now, he and Victor Shaw, his mortal enemy, were just inches apart.

Victor Shaw didn't recognize him. The passage of time, the complete change in demeanor, and that humble uniform created the perfect disguise.

But James Morgan knew that this brief encounter was far from the end. Shaw's suspicion wouldn't be completely dispelled by one seemingly reasonable explanation. He was only temporarily confused by the "security guard" identity.

He was like a cheetah hiding in the grass, having just brushed past the male lion patrolling its territory. Fortunately undetected, but a dangerous scent had already been left in the air.

He took out his phone, staring at the dark screen. That anonymous text message seemed to appear again.

"A shadow should not return to the light."

Now he was even more certain that the person who sent the text must be closely connected to the inner workings of the corporation and to the matter Shaw was investigating.

This person was perhaps watching everything from the shadows, including his brief but intense encounter with Shaw just now.

Was he a pawn, or another chess player?

James Morgan raised his head, looking up at the window with lights still on at the top floor of Prosperity Building. Victor Shaw was still there, like an evil dragon perched in his lair, guarding his wealth and secrets.

But the dragon didn't know that the hunter had already infiltrated his territory, and had just completed a brush with death.

Next time, it wouldn't be merely a brush.

James Morgan turned around, melting into the deeper darkness of the night.

His eyes were colder and more determined than the night itself. Finding that internal auditor, uncovering the truth about "Shadow," dismantling Victor Shaw's empire... this path was filled with thorns, but he had no other choice, nor did he fear anything.

The hunt had only just begun.