She was a middle-aged woman, but she looked younger than her age. She had a calm, graceful way about her that made her seem timeless. Her blond hair was tied neatly in a bun, not a single strand out of place, like she’d taken her time to do it just right. Her blue eyes were clear and bright, like a sunny summer sky, and they looked just like her son’s—full of life and peace. Her skin had a healthy glow that stood out against her fair features, almost like a ripe apple touched by morning sunlight. A soft blush in her cheeks made her look fresh and full of energy.

  She wore a beautiful dress made of fine fabric that moved smoothly as she did, like flowing water. It had gold thread stitched into pretty flower designs that sparkled gently in the light, making her look almost royal. Rings covered her fingers, each one unique but all stylish—like they had their own stories. Around her neck was a thin gold chain that shone brightly, catching the light and casting a glow on the ceiling above, almost like a small sun.

  She looked into the camera with a soft, knowing smile. Her blue eyes sparkled—not just with happiness, but with experience, memories, and something deeper, like a secret only she knew.

  When the speech ended, Ms. Charlotte confidently picked up her bag and walked straight toward her son's new office, calmly following the flashes of cameras. It was the first day of his career there, and she felt the importance of the moment settle deep in her chest—a heavy, proud feeling. As she made her way through the crowd of reporters and photographers, with their voices buzzing and cameras snapping, she stayed focused. Every step she took was steady and deliberate.

  As soon as she stepped into the office, her public act dropped. The polite smile she’d been wearing vanished, and she turned to look at Kaylee with a serious, piercing gaze. The warmth in her expression was gone, replaced by a quiet, intense look—one that only people who truly knew her would recognize.

  Kaylee got it right away. There was no need for words. The message between them was clear, like an unspoken signal. With a quick nod, Kaylee responded and ran her fingers over the control panel, changing the images on the screen. The mood in the room instantly shifted—quieter, heavier, and much more private.

  "Sir, from 2005 to 2022, our net profit was 247 million dollars," Kaylee said. "But at the start of this year, our stock dropped by 15% compared to last year."

  Ethan listened closely, his face showing signs of concern. "What caused such a big drop?" he asked.

  Kaylee replied, "There were a few major reasons. First, more competition in the market chipped away at our share. Second, the economy wasn’t in our favor—things like inflation and higher production costs hurt our profits. And finally, we struggled to keep up with changing customer needs and fast-moving technology."

  Ethan sighed, taking it all in. "We should’ve made some serious changes back then. What do you think we should’ve done to fix it?"

  Kaylee shook her head. "It wasn’t easy to act at that time."

  "Why not?" Ethan asked, pushing for answers.

  Kaylee looked over at Ms. Charlotte, giving her a silent cue to step in.

  "Because," Ms. Charlotte began seriously, "we started getting anonymous messages from someone we couldn't identify. They seemed to be targeting the companies linked to us. This person went to great lengths to hide who they were."

  "Anonymous messages?" Ethan asked, his brows drawing together.

  "Some expired food products were sold under our brand name. People who ate them got food poisoning. The issue was reported to the food safety authorities, and the samples were sent for lab testing. We just got the results yesterday."

  "Why didn’t you tell me about all this? It sounds like a major case of sabotage," Ethan said, clearly frustrated.

  "You were in Australia at the time," Ms. Charlotte replied with a small shrug. "I didn’t want to worry you."

  "Did you get the test results?" Ethan asked.

  "Yes," Ms. Charlotte nodded. "They found a high amount of Salmonella in the products."

  "Did you launch an investigation, Ms. President?"

  "I notified the authorities right away," she said calmly. "But as you know, these investigations take time, so we had no choice but to wait." She paused for a deep breath.

  "Sir, I drafted a statement we can release once we fully understand the situation," Kaylee added.

  Ethan nodded, clearly shaken. This wasn’t the kind of welcome he expected stepping into the business.

  "Ms. Charlotte, you’re scheduled to meet a delegate from Singapore tonight at the Grand Oasis Hotel," Kaylee reminded her.

  Ms. Charlotte turned to Ethan. "From now on, all business decisions for Lopez Food Company will go through the new CEO—my son."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "Reschedule the meeting to Luxor Lodgings Hotel instead of Grand Oasis," Ethan instructed.

  "What time should I set it for, sir?" Kaylee asked.

  "10:30 p.m.," Ethan replied, then walked out of the meeting room with Ms. Charlotte.

  It was just after 11:45 p.m., the sky dark and hazy with smog, when a young woman fell from the top floor of the Luxor Lodgings Hotel. For a split second, her figure was just a blur against the building’s bright lights before she vanished into the night. The air smelled like wet pavement and car fumes, the quiet only broken by the distant sounds of traffic and a far-off siren.

  Inside the hotel, everything was normal—people sipped drinks in the bar, laughed in the penthouse, or dozed off in their rooms, completely unaware of what had just happened outside.

  Then—the sound.

  A sickening crack as her body hit the ground, so loud it shattered the night’s calm. The force shook the pavement, startling a group of pigeons into the air. Inside the lobby, a bored bellhop snapped to attention, his face going pale.

  “Oh my God—!”

  The scream cut through the air, jolting everyone awake. Within seconds, guests rushed outside—some still holding drinks, others in half-tied robes, their expressions frozen in shock.

  The girl lay sprawled on the concrete, her limbs twisted, her dark hair spread around her like a stain. Blood slowly spread beneath her, shimmering under the hotel’s neon lights.

  “Who’s staying in that penthouse?” a man demanded, his voice sharp over the murmurs.

  A woman in a silk nightgown pressed a hand to her chest, her nails digging into her skin. “That’s Ethan Lopez’s suite!” she said. “The new CEO of Lopez Food Company!”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Ethan Lopez. The name alone carried weight—wealth, power, scandal. And now, death.

  [3 hours ago]

  [Opulent Heights]

  At 9 PM, Ethan sat alone in his penthouse at Opulent Heights, high above the city. Dressed in black jeans, crisp sneakers, and a white turtleneck that fit his slim frame, he looked effortlessly stylish. A hands-free device was in his ear, playing something softly—maybe music, maybe a voice. The breeze from the open window tousled his hair slightly, giving him a relaxed, unpolished vibe. Leaning on one arm with his legs crossed on the sleek leather sofa, he seemed completely relaxed—yet there was a quiet tension in him, like he was waiting for something.

  Without his usual blue contact lenses and glasses, Ethan looked different—more natural, more real. In his hand, he held a glass of Chateau Lafite 1869, sipping it slowly, savoring the taste and the moment. His eyes kept drifting to the wall clock, its ticking steady and constant. He was waiting—for what, or who, it wasn’t clear, but it had his full attention.

  Then, the doorbell rang.

  Ethan picked up his phone, typed a quick message to Kaylee, and set it down with a soft tap on the glass table. Without a second thought, he stood up and walked to the door.

  As he opened it, four men stepped inside. All were dressed in sharp black suits, perfectly tailored. Their faces were unreadable, their movements calm but precise. The one in front, clearly the leader, held a black briefcase close to his chest, gripping it tightly. The other three flanked him, forming a protective circle around him, their eyes scanning the room with cold precision—before they finally locked on Ethan.

  The atmosphere changed instantly.

  "Mr. Thomas Martinez, welcome to my humble abode," Ethan chuckled, greeting one of the men with a firm handshake.

  "I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Mr. Ethan Lopez," Thomas replied, flashing a bright smile. The two of them made their way to the sofa where Ethan had been sitting. Thomas was a tall, lean man, with a muscular build. His long sideburns framed his well-groomed face, and his short hair looked styled with gel. His dark skin gleamed under the light, and a silver necklace shimmered around his neck. Thomas worked for Ethan, handling all his illegal activities and underground operations, with a lot of freedom to do so.

  "The meeting’s set for next week," Thomas began. "We’ve got some important news for you."

  "About what?" Ethan asked, tilting his head to the side, intrigued. "Any new updates?"

  "Good news," Thomas chuckled.

  Ethan took another sip of his drink and gestured for him to continue.

  "First, we found out where those four men you asked about are," Thomas said, his tone full of excitement.

  Ethan’s eyes widened.

  “They were hiding in New York,” Thomas continued. “We found a warehouse near Central Park packed with illegal weapons.”

  Ethan stared down at his hands and gave a slow nod, processing the news.

  “When we searched the place, most of it was firearms and explosives,” Thomas went on, then paused. “But one item stood out, Mr. Lopez.” He pulled a small metallic object from his pocket. It looked like a tiny eye—round and silver.

  Ethan narrowed his eyes in confusion.

  “It’s a prototype. It contains a memory chip,” Thomas explained.

  Ethan held his breath for a second, like he’d been waiting for this moment. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then walked over to the locker. Without hesitation, he placed the device inside, pulled out a brown file, and returned to Thomas, handing it over.

  Thomas took the file, flipping it open. Then he looked back at Ethan.

  Ethan gave him a firm smile and pointed at the file. “Everything you need is in there.”

  Thomas slowly opened it—and inside were photos of girls. He glanced back at Ethan, a satisfied smile creeping across his face.

  “Fifty in total, ready for drop-off,” Ethan said with a smirk. “The ‘packages’ are prepped and waiting for delivery.”

  “Good, good. We can’t afford any mistakes this time,” Thomas nodded. “The buyers are getting impatient.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re on schedule. The merchandise—”

  But before Ethan could finish, he heard something just outside the door. His expression changed instantly—brows raised, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at the clock. 11 PM.

  He quickly walked to the door and opened it—and there she was.

  Kaylee.

  Frozen in place, her eyes wide with shock. Her face was pale, her expression a mix of horror, disbelief, and deep sadness. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Kaylee?” Ethan said, stunned.

  She didn’t answer. Just a soft, broken sob escaped her lips.

  “What were you doing here, Ms. Anderson?” Ethan demanded, his voice rising.

  She flinched at his words, her face draining of color like the question had touched something raw and vulnerable. Her eyes dropped to the floor, searching for something—anything—to say. But nothing came.

  Ethan looked away, letting out a sharp breath. The sigh was heavy, full of frustration. When he spoke again, his voice was different—cold, distant, almost mechanical.

  Whatever he said next—she couldn’t take it.

  Her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor in a silent collapse. The sound of her body hitting the ground was soft, but to Ethan, it echoed like a warning bell in the quiet space.

  He immediately glanced down the hallway. Empty.

  Without wasting a second, he moved to her side. His arms wrapped around her with surprising care—gentle and practiced, like this wasn’t the first time. He lifted her easily and carried her back inside, closing the door behind them with a soft, final click.