The photo lay silently on the table, like a massive stone thrown into still water, stirring up tremendous waves in the depths of James's heart.

He repeatedly examined the low-resolution photograph. The background was indeed the B2 level parking garage of Morgan Building, with the load-bearing column and the blurry "No Parking" sign perfectly matching. The timestamp pointed precisely to the night before his life fell apart.


Yet he had no recollection of this whatsoever.

What was he doing that night?

On the eve of his wedding, he should have been reviewing the final arrangements or having a small gathering with close friends. His memory had become somewhat confused due to the dramatic events that followed, but he was certain he had not met Victor Shaw in the parking garage, much less received anything from him!


Was it forged?

James Morgan picked up the photo and moved to the window's brighter light for a closer inspection.


The texture, lighting, and angle all carried the characteristic roughness and authenticity of surveillance footage, not appearing to be digitally manipulated. And if he remembered correctly, there was indeed a security camera at that position.

That left only two possibilities.

First, he had lost that part of his memory. But this possibility was extremely slim—he couldn't possibly forget such a crucial meeting.

Second, the "him" in the photo wearing his clothes with his back to the camera wasn't him at all.

This thought struck him like an ice pick, making his heart contract suddenly.

If not him, then who could it be? Who could be at that time and place, wearing his custom-made suit, mimicking his physique and posture, having such a secret exchange with Victor Shaw?

What was in the USB drive that Victor Shaw handed to that "him"? Was it the so-called "key evidence" that later incriminated him?

Countless questions entangled him like vines, almost suffocating him.

Sylvia Sterling.

Why did she have this photo? Seven years ago, she was just a novice reporter—how could she have obtained surveillance screenshots that possibly even the police didn't possess? What was her purpose in coming to him today and slipping him this photo? Was it a warning? A test? Or... another trap?

James Morgan clutched the photo tightly, the edges of the paper becoming wrinkled.

He couldn't panic, couldn't lose control. The first lesson seven years in prison had taught him was that no matter what he faced, he must maintain absolute calm.

He needed to find Sylvia Sterling and get clear answers.

But first, he needed to confirm some things.

He took out the burner phone Gregory Gould had prepared for him and dialed a number. After several rings, a steady male voice answered.

"Out already?" It was Gregory Gould.

"Yes." James Morgan replied. "Uncle Gould, I need a favor."

"Go ahead."

"Help me investigate someone—Sylvia Sterling. Seven years ago she was an intern at Coastal City Daily, not sure if she's still there. I want to know her current situation, contact information, and whether she's investigated my case in these seven years, or if she's had any contact with Victor Shaw."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Sylvia Sterling? That young reporter? Why are you suddenly asking about her?"

"She just came to see me and left something behind," James Morgan said without elaborating. "I think she might know something."

Gregory Gould's voice turned serious. "Alright, I'll investigate as soon as possible. Be careful—Victor Shaw is now deeply entrenched with many informants. You've just been released, it's best not to act rashly."

"I understand." James Morgan hung up the phone.

Outside the window, night gradually enveloped the city, neon lights flickering on one by one, outlining the prosperous skyline. How much filth and calculation lurked beneath this prosperity?

He carefully put away the photo, lay down on the hard bed, and closed his eyes.

Scenes from seven years ago flashed through his mind: his father's blood, Victor Shaw's cold gaze, the gleam of handcuffs, the judge's verdict... and that photo that appeared out of nowhere.

The flames of hatred burned in his chest, but stronger than hatred was a desire to tear through the fog and see the truth clearly.

In the following days, James Morgan kept a low profile, familiarizing himself with his surroundings while learning about Prosperity Group's development through channels provided by Gregory Gould.

Victor Shaw's methods were indeed formidable. Not only had he stabilized the once-precarious Morgan enterprise, but through several brilliant acquisitions and capital operations, he had elevated Prosperity Group to new heights. He himself had become the hot new business elite in Binhai City, frequently gracing the covers of financial magazines.

Handsome, wealthy, exceptionally capable, and loyal—these were the labels the media attached to Victor Shaw. Especially "loyalty"—not only did he "put justice before personal ties" when his "good brother" James Morgan committed crimes, but after Richard Morgan's death, he arranged the funeral as a devoted nephew would. Afterward, he repeatedly expressed his remembrance of the Morgan father and son in public, attributing Prosperity Group's achievements to the foundation laid by Richard Morgan.

What a perfect image!

Looking at Victor Shaw's smug smile on a magazine cover at a roadside newsstand, James Morgan felt his stomach churn.

That afternoon, Gregory Gould called.

"I found her. Sylvia Sterling left Coastal City Daily three years ago. Now she works as an investigative journalist at an online outlet called 'In-Depth Weekly.' It's not very well-known, but she's reportedly uncovered several minor scandals. She lives in Jinxi Garden complex on the west side of the city. Here's the address." Gregory Gould recited an address, then paused. "Also, I had someone discreetly ask around. These past few years, she has indeed been privately investigating your case, apparently convinced you were wrongfully accused. Because of this, she had conflicts with the newspaper's management—one of the reasons she left."

James Morgan's heartbeat quickened.

Sylvia Sterling believed he was wrongfully accused? And had been investigating all this time?

"What about her connection to Victor Shaw?"

"On the surface, we couldn't find any connections. However..." Gregory Gould's tone grew hesitant, "there's something strange. About two years ago, Sylvia Sterling was in a car accident, fractured her leg, and was out of commission for two months. The accident was ruled as drunk driving by the other party, but that driver quickly moved away from Binhai with his family shortly after. His whereabouts are unknown."

A car accident? A disappeared driver?

James Morgan's gaze instantly sharpened. This didn't sound like an accident at all.

"I understand. Thank you, Uncle Gould."

After hanging up, James Morgan looked at Sylvia's address on the note and made a decision.

He had to see Sylvia Sterling.

Jinxi Garden was a mid-range residential community with lax security. James Morgan easily slipped in and found the building where Sylvia Sterling lived.

He didn't rush upstairs but sat on an inconspicuous bench in the landscaped area below, like an ordinary resident taking a rest. He needed to observe whether Sylvia Sterling was home and if there were any suspicious people around.

At dusk, as darkness fell, the street lights flickered on.

A familiar figure appeared at the entrance of the compound—Sylvia Sterling. She wore a beige trench coat and carried a shopping bag, looking tired as she walked quickly toward the building with her head down.

Just as she was about to enter the hallway, a black sedan with its lights off silently glided from the shadows, following not far behind her at a leisurely pace.

James Morgan's nerves immediately tensed.

The car's windows were tinted dark, making it impossible to see who was inside, but that hidden, purposeful tracking posture triggered his alarm bells.

Sylvia seemed completely unaware as she took out her access card and swiped open the building door.

The moment she pushed the door open, the rear door of the black sedan suddenly flung open, and two agile men in dark jackets rushed toward the building entrance without a word!

Their target was clear—Sylvia Sterling!

Sylvia heard the hurried footsteps behind her and instinctively looked back. The color instantly drained from her face, and her shopping bags dropped to the ground with a thud, their contents scattering everywhere.

She tried to scream, but one of the men already reached to cover her mouth, while the other roughly grabbed for her arm!

At this critical moment!

A figure shot out from the nearby shadows like a cheetah, moving so fast it left only a blur! James Morgan wasted no words, delivering a swift, precise chop to the joint of the arm reaching for Sylvia's mouth!

"Argh!" The man grunted in pain as his arm went limp.

The other man reacted quickly, releasing Sylvia and throwing a punch straight at James's face! The force behind it was vicious—clearly the work of a trained fighter.

James Morgan had spent seven years in prison, and while he hadn't learned much else, fighting and self-preservation had become instincts etched into his bones. He tilted his head to avoid the punch while simultaneously driving his knee upward, striking his opponent directly in the soft abdomen!

"Ugh!" The man doubled over in pain.

The first man recovered and pulled something from his waist. A flash of cold light revealed a switchblade! He lunged at James with a vicious grin!

"Look out!" Sylvia Sterling cried in alarm.

James's eyes turned cold as ice. Instead of retreating, he advanced. As the knife tip was about to reach him, his body twisted at an impossible angle, avoiding the blade while his right hand clamped like an iron vise around the attacker's wrist, twisting it forcefully!

Crack! A bone-breaking sound that made one's teeth ache.

The switchblade dropped to the ground as the man let out a shrill scream of agony.

James Morgan didn't hesitate, kicking the man away with such force that he slammed against the nearby wall, slid down, and fell silent.

The other man, clutching his stomach and sensing danger, scrambled toward the black sedan.

The car's engine roared—clearly the driver had been ready all along. Seeing the situation, he immediately drove off, abandoning his companion and speeding away, quickly disappearing into the night.

Everything happened in a flash.

From the moment James took action until it ended, only about ten seconds had passed. All that remained in the hallway entrance was the knife-wielding man groaning in pain on the floor, items scattered everywhere, and Sylvia Sterling, still in shock with a face as white as paper.

She leaned against the cold building entrance door, her chest heaving rapidly, staring at James who had suddenly appeared and instantly resolved the crisis. Her eyes were filled with shock, fear, and a trace of disbelief.

James Morgan steadied his breathing, walked up to her, picked up the access card that had fallen at her feet, and handed it back to her.

His voice sounded particularly deep in the night air, with a hint of barely noticeable hoarseness.

"Now, can you tell me what that photograph was all about?"