Chapter 68: Serpent in the Shadows
"Good morning, Master Ren. How did you sleep?"
Luther's voice was smooth, his tone almost too pleasant as he greeted me outside the restaurant. His dark eyes scanned my face, searching for clues, perhaps, trying to read the state of my mind. He was early, waiting for me by the entrance. The morning sun cast long shadows across the pavement, splitting the world into halves of light and darkness, much like the man standing before me.
"It seems I made you wait for half an hour," I replied, watching as his face flickered with surprise.
"How did you know that, Master Ren?" he asked, curiosity lacing his words. I shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though I had timed my arrival down to the second.
"Also," I added, my voice sharpening like a blade, "don't call me Master. Call me Ren."
He smiled—a too-perfect smile. Lips curved, eyes shut, it was the kind of smile that sent chills down my spine. It was the smile of someone who could slit your throat and laugh about it later. Even in my previous life, with all the blood on my hands, I never smiled like that. I always made sure that those who died by my hand knew their final moments weren't mocked. This man, however, would do so without a second thought.
"I see," Luther replied, his smile not wavering for a moment. "The disguise is to avoid being noticed by the paparazzi, correct?"
"Yes. Correct," I confirmed, realizing he had seen through me completely. I was dressed in a simple jacket over a white shirt, my face obscured by a cap and mask. Despite my efforts, he had pieced together my identity. The small ponytail of hair I had allowed to slip out from under the cap now seemed like a foolish mistake.
"Shall we go inside, Mr. Ren?" Luther's voice was smooth, but there was an undercurrent to it—a hidden agenda, perhaps. I had no doubt he was planning something, whether it was recording our conversation or something more sinister.
As we entered the restaurant, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. The interior was quiet, only a few patrons scattered around. We chose a table far from the others, ensuring our conversation would remain private. The distance was symbolic, a separation from the world around us, as if the truths we were about to exchange couldn't survive in the light of day.
Luther leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "So, Mr. Ren, what's your plan to stop this traitor?"
I sipped my coffee, letting the bitter taste linger on my tongue. "Before I tell you that, there's something I need to ask you."
Luther tilted his head, inviting me to continue. I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. The next few words would determine the direction of our conversation—and perhaps, our future.
"Who controls the company's major assets and operations besides you and my grandfather? Who handles the banking, employment, and so on?"
"For employment, it's your uncle," Luther answered smoothly. "As for banking, that's under Robert James."
I nodded, tapping my fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Are there any other executive officers who might have access to confidential information?"
Luther's eyes narrowed slightly. "No, there aren't. The only person who has access to that level of information is your grandfather. Even though I'm always by his side, he doesn't let me see those files."
"I see," I murmured, leaning back in my chair as if considering something deeply. "Do you think it's possible for a scandal to arise if the employees start spreading misinformation? Rumors, for example?"
Luther hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, it's possible. If the employees are the ones spreading rumors, then it could lead to a scandal."
"I thought so," I said, taking another sip of my coffee. "Now, what about the discrepancy between the money that should be used for operations and the money that is actually spent?"
Luther looked puzzled. "I don't understand."
"Let me put it another way," I said, pausing as the waiter approached with our coffees. Luther had ordered a milk coffee, while I opted for cold black coffee. The waiter placed the cups in front of us, smiling politely before retreating.
"Thank you," I said, acknowledging the waiter's service. Luther nodded as well, though his focus was back on our conversation.
"A certain amount of money is loaned from the bank for business every month, correct?" I continued, stirring my coffee absently.
"Yes," Luther confirmed. "Every month, a substantial amount is loaned, and the payments are always made on time."
"How do you know that?" I pressed. "Have you seen the papers yourself?"
"Yes, I have," Luther replied. "As has your grandfather."
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "But can't the papers be altered? People can be bought, Luther. You've heard of cases where official documents say someone is dead just so that person can escape and start a new life. So it's possible to falsify records, isn't it?"
Luther's face darkened as he considered this. I could see the gears turning in his mind, the pieces starting to fall into place. He wasn't a fool, and he knew the world we lived in was one where money could twist the truth into whatever shape it desired.
"And have you thoroughly checked the backgrounds of all your employees?" I asked, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Luther paused, then admitted, "I think we did…"
"Think isn't good enough," I said, finishing my coffee. "You need to be sure. For all you know, one of them could be a zombie."
"A… zombie?" Luther repeated, clearly confused.
"In the traditional sense, a zombie is a corpse brought back to life by witchcraft," I explained, watching his reaction closely. "In this case, the witchcraft is money and connections. The corpse is one of your employees. You might want to make sure you're not feeding a snake, Luther—especially one with venomous fangs."
The symbolism hung in the air between us, heavy and ominous. Luther stared at me, his expression shifting from skepticism to a grudging respect. He had underestimated me, and he knew it now. The boy he had dismissed as just another teenager was proving to be more dangerous, more cunning, than he had anticipated.
"How do we draw this snake out of its nest, Mr. Ren?" Luther asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity. The shift in tone was subtle, but it was there—an acknowledgement of my authority in this matter.
I met his gaze, my wooden-gold eyes locking onto his wine-red ones. There was a moment of silence, a tense exchange of unspoken words. Then I leaned closer, lowering my voice to a whisper.
"Here's the plan…"
---
The morning sun was higher in the sky by the time we left the restaurant. It was 7:30 AM, and the world was waking up around us. Birds chirped in the trees, cars hummed along the streets, and yet, the conversation we had just shared felt like it existed in a different realm entirely—one of shadows and whispers.
"I'll make sure to pass on your advice to the master," Luther said, his tone respectful.
"Please do," I replied, adjusting my cap. "And make sure only you and Grandfather are aware of this plan. By the way, thank you for taking care of the paparazzi."
"It was no trouble," Luther said with a laugh. "All I had to do was feed them some money, and they started wagging their tails like obedient little dogs."
The casual cruelty in his voice gave me pause. There was something unsettling about the way he spoke, a hint of sadism that made my skin crawl.
"Well, if you'll excuse me," I said, ready to end the conversation. "I have to meet with some classmates."
"In that outfit?" Luther asked, raising an eyebrow.
I smirked. "All I have to do is take off the cap, mask, and gloves. The disguise is easy to shed."
"And that ridiculous-looking ponytail," he added with a grin.
I reached up, tugging at the small tuft of hair. "Yes… I should get rid of this abomination."
I learned today that a ponytail only looks good if your hair is at least shoulder length.
As I walked away, a dark satisfaction curled within me. Luther, the ever-smiling puppet, had no idea just how much he was being played. Everyone around me was a mere piece on the chessboard, a means to an inevitable checkmate.
Luther, the betrayer, even the serpent itself—they were all pawns in my game, and I would maneuver them as I deemed necessary.
I would let the serpent make its move, allow it to believe it held the upper hand, only to bait out every ounce of its strategy. And then, when its game was exposed, I would capture it, turning its very tactics to my advantage.
But that wasn't the endgame.
I would skin the snake, strip it of everything it had to offer—its power, its influence, its secrets. Nothing would be wasted. I would make sure to use every part of it for my own benefit, leaving behind nothing but an empty husk.
They were all nothing but tools, and I was the only one with the vision to use them correctly. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their very lives were just resources to be exploited in the pursuit of my success.