I turned around. Standing at the end of the hospital hallway, bathed in the pale, sterile glow of fluorescent lights, was a man in an expensive suit paired with a dark grey overcoat. Pinned to his chest was a university administration ID card, accompanied by a calm, chilling smile. Flanking him were two tall security guards standing like immovable walls.

“I am Vice Chancellor Harrison,” he said, stepping closer while maintaining a safe distance. “I just came from the police station. We understand how devastated you are over Miss Emma, but spreading names that could damage the reputation of the university’s top students could carry severe legal consequences for you, Mr. Walker.“

He glanced at the neatly folded, blood-stained piece of paper in my hand—the note bearing three names: Ethan Cole, Brandon Hale, Tyler Whitmore.

“Our university has a special support fund for unexpected student accidents,” Harrison lowered his voice, sliding a thick envelope forward. “All surgical expenses, recovery costs, and a substantial emotional compensation package will be covered immediately. In exchange, this incident should be chalked up as an ‘accidental fall down the stairs.’ The police have already agreed to close the case.”

I stared at the envelope, then fixed my gaze straight into Harrison’s eyes. It had been nearly twenty years since I looked at anyone with that expression—the look of a man who once decided who lived and who vanished in this eastern underworld.

Harrison suddenly froze. The corporate smile vanished from his face entirely. A cold shiver crawled down his spine, causing him to instinctively take half a step back.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to get out of my sight,” my voice was calm, yet every word dropped like a slab of freezing stone. “And give a message to the Cole, Hale, and Whitmore families… tell them their little game has only just begun.”

Harrison swallowed hard, all his authority completely evaporated. His face turned pale as he backed away in a hurry, turning around to retreat swiftly alongside the two guards.

I brought the phone back to my ear. On the other end of the line—Marcus, my most trusted former gunman, who now ran a massive private security corporation in New York—was holding his breath, waiting.

“Boss… did you just say ‘The Ghost is dead’?” Marcus’s voice trembled slightly.

“That’s right. The Ghost is dead,” I whispered, my eyes fixed through the hospital window on Emma’s broken face. “But tonight, a demon wakes up. Marcus, reactivate the ‘Shadow Index’ network.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the line. The “Shadow Index” network had once been an underground intelligence apparatus stretching from high-ranking politicians to the elite criminal underworld, storing every dirtiest secret of the most powerful dynasties.

“Send me detailed dossiers within the hour: underground accounts, illegal connections, and the personal schedules of the Cole, Hale, and Whitmore families,” I ordered. “And prepare a safehouse for me in the city center. I’m coming back.”

“Understood, Boss. We’ve been waiting 19 years for this day.”

An hour later, an unmarked black SUV pulled up in front of the hospital entrance. I stepped inside, leaving Daniel Walker—the gentle, quiet import merchant—far behind.

At the downtown penthouse, Marcus was already waiting. On the table sat thick stacks of files. Those three young men thought their parents’ power could cover up a crime. But they had no idea that very empire of power was built upon the dark foundations I once kept tightly under control.

Ethan Cole—the one who struck the blow—had a father currently bidding on a two-billion-dollar state highway project.

Brandon Hale—the one who watched and filmed—had a mother who was a US Senator preparing for a congressional reelection campaign.

Tyler Whitmore—the one who used his family’s influence to wipe the security footage—had a financial conglomerate quietly funneling hundreds of millions of dollars siphoned from charitable foundations.

“How does the Boss want to handle them?” Marcus asked, a ruthless gleam from the old days flashing in his eyes. “A car accident? Or vanishing without a trace?”

“No,” I smiled, a smile completely devoid of warmth. “Death is far too easy. They relied on their families’ power to trample others. So, I will destroy each of their families piece by piece, stripping away every ounce of power, prestige, and wealth they hold so dear. I want them to watch every single person backing them fall, and then… with their own hands, they will taste everything Emma endured.”

I picked up a glass of whisky, taking a cold sip.

“Let’s start with the Coles. Tomorrow morning, I want Ethan’s father’s construction company driven into bankruptcy.”