Chapter 12 Bingo!, Maybe not.

Inside the bunker, Van sat behind the wooden table, and a computer screen was lit in front of him. He didn't feel the throbbing, relentless ache of the fractured rib he had sustained in the cemetery ambush. The physical pain had been compartmentalized and boxed away in his mind.

His fingers moved across the keyboard as he initiated a deep search into the financial records tied to the attackers and assassination of Gabbie Muller. Gabbie had given him the information he needed. Zenith Mercantile, the vault and the exact routing numbers from an offshore wire transfer. It was a starting point.

Van pulled up the digital ledgers of Zenith Mercantile, bypassing their standard firewalls with a series of military-grade decryption keys he had salvaged from his own classified archives in the bunker. He watched lines of numbers cascading down the black screen, his eyes tracking the digital footprint of the

payment that had bought the destruction of his home.

He cross-referenced the numbers against national banking records, tracing the complex flow of capital through the labyrinth of financial networks.

He didn't rush the system. He followed the money waiting to spot a careless mistake.

But they were meticulous. The routing number from Zenith Mercantile bounced across dummy accounts. It was like a hydra. When he closed one account five more sprang out.

Van initiated a secondary breach, tearing through the holding firm's private records, only to find that the vault was entirely empty. Every account he chased down led directly to a series of elaborate shell companies.

His muscles tightened beneath his skin. He rerouted the trace, pulling the extended financial history of an offshore firm.

The capital flowed backward, bouncing through a web of dummy corporations designed to exhaust any standard investigator.

An agricultural export business. A synthetic textiles manufacturer operating out of Valoris. A maritime logistics conglomerate operating out of sovereign waters. None of them had physical offices. None of them had real employees on the payroll. They were just empty digital vaults constructed solely to wash the money clean and permanently obscure the origin of the capital.

His frustration began to pile up but he kept the anger controlled.

He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the bunker, and began systematically dismantling the dummy corporations one by one.

He isolated the IP addresses of the automated transfers, cross-referencing their timestamps down to the seconds. He looked for the overlap. The single node where all the fake companies received their initial funding.

Every shell company, no matter how complex, had to be built on a foundation.

Van ground his teeth. The silence of the bunker was only interrupted by the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard.

Finally, the automated algorithms broke. The digital walls of the final shell company which was a defunct real estate trust collapsed revealing the primary account that had authorized the initial creation of the entire financial network.

Van stopped typing. He leaned forward, his eyes focusing on the monitor.

Bingo!

This wasn't another dummy corporation. This was the source.

The account possessed a Level-1 sovereign wealth protection classification, the kind of absolute financial immunity usually reserved for top-tier defense contractors or black-budget government programs. It was deeply buried, encrypted, and entirely off the grid.

He bypassed the final redaction filter pulling up the master signatory ledger Gabbie had mentioned. The screen went black for a moment. Then it flashed white, rendering a high-res scan of the original transfer authorization slip.

There was no CEO's signature on the dotted line. There was no board of directors listed in the margins.

At the bottom of the document, stamped in an inked emblem that authorized the payment, was a single organization's name.

Van stared at the screen.

BLACK CROWN

The name hung there, isolated and imposing, an undeniable confirmation of the enemy he was facing.

A realization hit him. If he had successfully reached the main account, he could pull the transaction history. He could see every payment they had ever made. He could unmask every person they had hired.

This account might actually be traceable, he thought.

The pace of his movements shifted, his hands flying across the keyboard in a repetitive motion blur. He initiated a data extraction protocol. A progress bar appeared on the center screen.

Downloading Ledger.

12%

18%

His phone vibrated on the table. He looked at it. It was a call from an unknown number.

He didn't answer.

Whoever they were, he wasn't ready to play any games.

It vibrated again. This time it was a text message. One line.

'We see you'

The system immediately fought back.

Flashing red warnings pasted all over the screen.

Had they detected an intrusion?

34%

45%

An aggressive counter-hack was attempting to sever his connection and fry his PC.

He needed the whole file. He needed the names, the targets.

The code on the screens scrolled at an unreadable speed.

67%

72%

“Come on,” Van hissed through his gritted teeth. His eyes darted between the advancing progress bar and the incoming automated countermeasures. He was too deep into their system.

He wasn't going to get the entire shadow list on time.

“Just need a little more time,” he muttered, moving closer to the screen as if it would push the progress forward.

88%

94%

98%

The download froze.

“No no no no no,” Van hit the override command, his fingers striking the keys with force.

Two more percent. Two more.

Nothing happened. The data stream flatlined. The progress bar disappeared. The connection to Zenith Mercantile's server was cut.

Then the screen switched to something else.

It was a camera feed.

“I didn't initiate this,” Van said as he clicked the esc key. But nothing happened.

It was a live municipal traffic and security feed surrounding the central business district.

The video was a live view of the street. People walking. Cars moving.

The feed then focused on a high-rise, glass-fronted architecture where it stood undisturbed.

He saw the logo and the name that was in red, grey, and white lettering.

Zenith Mercantile.

The financial building stood undisturbed.

Everything appeared perfectly normal.

Then the screen split into two. One focused on the building while the other showed a passageway. It zoomed in on a door. Written on the door was a familiar marking.

Vault 73. Like Gabbie told him.

Van stared at the screen. He knew what he was seeing, but not why they were showing it to him.

To taunt?

He knew they were watching. They made it clear quite alright.

The feed in the passage way flickered and a bright light blinded the camera. The passageway camera went blank.

The camera facing the building was still active but Van could see what was happening.

The third floor of the building erupted. He could see the yellow flame and black smoke coming out from the building. The force of the explosion blew out every window the camera could capture.

The shockwave finally hit the camera facing the building. It shook violently, a static tearing across the image as the entire floor of the building caved out.

Van didn't move, his mind devoid of thought as he continued to watch the screen, the glowing orange reflection of the burning building dancing in his dark, unblinking eyes.