The brief confrontation with Victor Shaw was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head, bringing James Morgan to complete sobriety.

Luck was only temporary, and Victor Shaw's suspicion lurked like a venomous snake, ready to bare its fangs again at any moment. He needed to be faster, more ruthless.


The text message from that "shadow" continued to sink like a stone into the sea, with the sender seemingly vanished into thin air.

But James Morgan could feel that a pair of eyes, from some corner he couldn't reach, was calmly watching this game.

Friend or foe, what the purpose was, he had no way to judge, and could only include this unknown variable within the scope of his calculations.


Preliminary investigation results about Captain Wilson came in from Gregory Gould's side.

His background was suspiciously clean—a veteran who had worked at Prosperity Property Management for eight years, gradually climbing from security guard to captain, with no negative records or obvious social connections.


Being too clean was itself a kind of abnormality. But for now, there was no evidence suggesting he had any special connection to the text messages or Victor Shaw.

"Keep observing, but don't alert him," Gregory Gould instructed on the phone. "The urgent matter now is to find the person conducting the internal audit. The more intensely Victor Shaw investigates, the greater the risk of this person being exposed, and the greater the opportunity for us."

James Morgan understood this principle. This person might possess crucial evidence that could bring Victor Shaw to his demise.

After his night shift came two days off. James didn't rest; he used this time to review the materials he got from Sylvia Sterling about the subsidiary company suspected of illegal fundraising, and combined them with the fragments of Starlight Capital's fund flow provided by Gregory Gould, trying to find a clearer path.

He discovered that between the subsidiary and Starlight Capital, although there was no direct equity connection on the surface, there were many suspicious fund transfers through several complex intermediate companies. The pattern was identical to seven years ago, only the methods were more concealed. Victor Shaw seemed to have developed a mature system of money collection and laundering that he continuously replicated.

Just as he was concentrating on his analysis, the burner phone vibrated again. Still an anonymous number, but this time the content wasn't a warning, but an address—an old library at the other end of the city—followed by a time: tomorrow at 3 p.m.

No greeting, no demands, just the cold time and place.

James Morgan stared at the text message, his brows furrowed. Was it a trap? Or was the "shadow" finally revealing itself?

To go, or not to go?

The risk was enormous. The other party's identity was unknown, their intentions unclear, and the location was a relatively enclosed public space. If it was a trap set by Victor Shaw, he would have almost nowhere to escape.

But not going might mean missing a crucial lead, perhaps even a chance to directly contact the internal auditor. The fact that they chose a place like the library seemed to suggest they didn't want to resort to violence, but rather exchange some kind of information.

Weighing the pros and cons, James Morgan decided to take the risk. He couldn't bear the cost of standing still.

The next day, he arrived near the library an hour early. It was a European-style building with over a hundred years of history, its outer walls covered with ivy, giving it an ancient and quiet appearance. He circled the library several times, observing the surrounding environment, possible entrances and exits, and looking for any suspicious individuals or vehicles.

Everything seemed normal.

At two fifty, he entered the library.

The interior was dimly lit, with tall bookshelves standing like a silent forest. The smell of old paper and dust floated in the air, interrupted only by the occasional sound of turning pages and soft footsteps. Following the instructions in the text message, he walked toward the social science literature reading area on the third floor.

It was even quieter here, with very few readers present. He found a seat by the window that also allowed him to observe most of the area. His eyes appeared to be focused on a book he had picked up, but in reality, he was vigilantly scanning his surroundings.

Time ticked by minute by minute. At three o'clock sharp, no strangers appeared at the entrance to the reading room. At five past three, still no one.

Just as he began to doubt whether he was being tricked or if the other party had changed their mind, a person wearing a deep blue hoodie, baseball cap, and face mask, with head lowered, quickly emerged from deep within the bookshelves. They swiftly slipped a folded small note between the pages of the book in front of him, then without the slightest pause, turned and walked away rapidly, disappearing at the end of another row of bookshelves.

The entire process took less than five seconds, happening so quickly that one could hardly react. James Morgan couldn't even make out the person's height or build, only catching a glimpse of a pair of downcast eyes that revealed no emotion whatsoever.

He suppressed the impulse to immediately chase after them, maintaining his reading posture, and only after confirming with his peripheral vision that there was nothing else unusual around did he slowly pick up the book and retrieve the note inside.

There was no text on the note, only a hand-drawn, extremely simple symbol—a camera icon with a diagonal line through it.

James Morgan's heart suddenly contracted.

This symbol... he recognized it! It was the confidential symbol used by the Morgan Corporation's internal security system seven years ago to mark "temporary malfunction or blocked" areas! Very few people knew about this symbol!

The other party wasn't playing riddles with him, but using this method to confirm some identity, or to convey an extremely clear and urgent message—there's surveillance, they're being watched, or... the operation has been exposed!

He immediately closed the book, stood up, without looking at the note a second time, clutching it tightly in his palm.

He didn't go back the way he came, but chose to leave through another secluded side door of the library, quickening his pace, blending into the flow of people on the street outside.

Less than ten minutes after he left, two black vans silently pulled up at the main entrance of the library. Several men in plain clothes, but with disciplined movements and sharp eyes, quickly got out of the cars and entered the library.

James Morgan looked back from the street corner, just in time to see this scene, and instantly broke out in a cold sweat.

That was close!

If not for that symbol's warning, if he had hesitated even slightly, or tried to track down the messenger, he would likely have been trapped like a fish in a barrel by now. Victor Shaw's men had indeed arrived!

Was that messenger the "Shadow"? They not only knew about Victor Shaw's movements but could also use internal symbols that only the Morgan family elders understood as warnings.

This person must have extremely deep connections to the Morgan family from seven years ago and to the present-day Prosperity Group!

He clenched the note in his palm, the thin piece of paper now feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds.

This wasn't just a warning, but a silent declaration of alliance. Although the other party remained hidden in the mist, it at least indicated that in the camp opposing Victor Shaw, he was no longer alone.

Back in his rented apartment, James Morgan burned the note and flushed the ashes down the drain. He sat in darkness, reviewing everything that had happened today.

Victor Shaw's reaction speed was too fast. The time interval between his receiving the text message and the ambush at the library was very short.

This means either Victor Shaw was continuously monitoring certain communication channels, or the anonymous number sending the message was itself under Shaw's surveillance?

The latter was more likely. Someone had taken the risk to pass information to him under extremely dangerous circumstances.

This person was probably in an even more dangerous situation than he was.

And the appearance of that internal code pointed the finger of suspicion subtly toward those old employees who remained from the Morgan era.

These people mostly occupied marginal positions in the Prosperity Group now. Among them, who would harbor such deep hatred toward Victor Shaw? And who would have the ability and courage to conduct an internal audit?

The scope was narrowing, but the target remained unclear.

He needed to be more proactive.

The next day, after his rotation break ended, James Morgan returned to work at the property management company. He noticed that Captain Wilson's gaze toward him seemed to have undergone a subtle change—less casual and more scrutinizing.

Though there was no evidence linking him to the library incident, it had clearly raised internal vigilance once again.

In the afternoon, during his routine inspection of the underground parking garage, he deliberately "accidentally" dropped a set of keys in a blind spot of the surveillance cameras in one corner—it was a replica of some unimportant warehouse keys he had made, but on the keychain, he had engraved a miniature version of the crossed-out camera symbol with an extremely fine pen.

He picked up the keys and walked away casually.

This was an extremely risky probe. He was fishing. If that "shadow" or internal auditor was in the property management company, or had access to reports about surveillance blind spots here, they might see this symbol and understand its meaning.

He was telling the other party: I received your message, I understand. And, I am here.

After doing all this, James Morgan felt the dizziness of walking on a tightrope. In front was Victor Shaw's relentless pursuit, behind was the mysterious ally's elusive presence, and below was an abyss thousands of feet deep.

But he had no way back.

At night, he stood by the window again, gazing in the direction of Prosperity Tower.

The lights on the top floor were still on. Victor Shaw might be raising a glass to yet another successful business operation, or perhaps raging about the "mole" he still couldn't catch.

He didn't know whether the stone he had cast, marked with a special symbol, had already created ripples on that seemingly calm yet turbulent lake surface.

He only knew that once the gears of revenge began to turn, they could never stop. Not until one side was completely crushed.

And this time, he would no longer be the sacrificed pawn.

He would be the one who ultimately calls checkmate.