The previous night at the Sherwood hotel...
Gilbert straightened his suit, adjusting the collar as he stepped into the grand ballroom of the Sherwood Hotel. The room was magnificent, with its marble floors reflecting the soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. The buzz of the evening wrapped around him—laughter, conversation, clinking glasses—and yet, in this sea of luxury, Gilbert felt the weight of his purpose. He wasn't here to socialize; he was here for answers.
Beside him, Damon was the picture of ease, as usual, his confident stride and casual grin betraying none of the tension Gilbert could feel simmering just beneath his own calm exterior. But there was no mistaking the reason for their presence tonight.
"We could have just skipped this, you know," Damon murmured, scanning the room with a faint smirk. "Your old man's not going to care either way. He's probably just using this as another opportunity to parade you around."
Gilbert didn't reply immediately. His eyes were locked on the crowd ahead. His father was indeed thrilled that Gilbert had reluctantly agreed to attend, but that wasn't why they were here. His father's high-society expectations paled in comparison to the more pressing matter. The hacking of his father's company—the one that had sent shockwaves through the boardroom and caused thousands in damage.
It all pointed to one name. A name that Gilbert could no longer ignore. De Wayne Henry. The man who had connections to nearly every powerful figure in the city, from the elite tech moguls to the politicians who could make or break careers. He was a ghost, moving behind the scenes, pulling strings in ways Gilbert couldn't even begin to understand.
"Are you sure about this?" Damon asked again, his eyes narrowing as he followed Gilbert's gaze. "What if we don't get anything tonight?"
Gilbert exhaled sharply, his eyes still set on the man across the room. "We will get something tonight. I'm done waiting."
The target was in sight.
De Wayne Henry stood at the far side of the ballroom, surrounded by a small circle of influential guests. His presence commanded attention without effort, as if the room bent around him. His sharp black suit fit him like a second skin, and his cold, calculating gaze seemed to absorb everything. His smirk was a familiar, unsettling thing—a glimpse of the kind of power he wielded, the kind that made men like Gilbert's father quake in their boots. And yet, there was more to Henry than just his connections, his wealth. He was dangerous in a way that could not be quantified in dollars or status. He was behind the hack—of that, Gilbert was certain. The evidence was all too clear, and tonight, he intended to confront him.
As the two young men made their way through the crowd, Gilbert felt the eyes of the elite following them, surprised by the sight of the rebellious son of the famous businessman mingling with the guests. His reputation as a troublemaker preceded him, and many of the older patrons glanced at him in disdain. His father's workaholic attitude had soured their relationship, but tonight, Gilbert was more than willing to play the part of the dutiful son. He had a much bigger agenda, and it didn't involve pleasantries or gossip.
"Right there," Gilbert murmured, nodding toward Henry, who had turned his back on the conversation to check his phone. There was no mistaking it—this was their chance.
"You're sure he's the one behind the hack, though?" Damon asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "What if we're wrong? What if it's someone else?"
Gilbert's expression hardened. He couldn't afford to entertain doubts now. "It's him, Damon. I've connected the dots. He's the one who pulled the strings. And I'm going to make him admit it."
They reached the small group of people surrounding Henry. The moment the two young men approached, the conversation halted. De Wayne Henry turned with slow deliberation, his sharp eyes locking onto them immediately. A small, knowing smile spread across his face as he assessed them.
"Ah, the dynamic duo," Henry said, his voice smooth, carrying a trace of amusement. "Gilbert bruce and Damon Edwin. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Gilbert didn't flinch. His eyes met Henry's with an intensity that spoke volumes. He wasn't here for games.
"We know what you did," Gilbert said flatly, his voice steady, though there was a sharp edge beneath the calm. "You hacked my father's company. You think you can just get away with it."
Damon's jaw tightened beside him, but he stood firm, adding, "You've caused a lot of damage, Henry. People are getting hurt because of you."
Henry tilted his head slightly, as if considering them. Then, without missing a beat, he raised his glass of wine to his lips, taking a casual sip.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement. "And what makes you think you've got the leverage to do anything about it?"
Gilbert's heart beat faster, but he kept his face neutral. The room seemed to close in around him as Henry's cool, detached demeanor sent a chill down his spine. "We know who you are. We know what you're capable of. And we know you were the one who orchestrated the hack."
Henry's eyes narrowed, but the smile never left his lips. "You think you know me? You think you know what I'm capable of? Try it, if you can. But I'd advise against it. You've got nothing on me."
The room around them seemed to shift, as if every conversation, every clink of glasses, had faded away. Gilbert and Damon stood at the edge of this confrontation, their accusations hanging in the air, yet they were powerless. Henry wasn't shaken, wasn't even perturbed. He was untouchable.
Gilbert's fist clenched at his side, but he didn't dare make a move. Henry was right—without proof, they were just two angry boys making empty threats. And Henry knew it.
"Nothing on you?" Damon repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You've ruined everything we've worked for. You think you can just walk away from this?"
Henry's gaze shifted away from Damon, the faintest hint of amusement crossing his face as he glanced over the other guests. He seemed to dismiss them entirely. "You should be careful, boys. There are more dangerous games being played here than you can even imagine."
With another slow, deliberate sip of his wine, he turned back to the crowd, dismissing them completely. "Good evening, gentlemen."
Gilbert stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing. He could feel Damon beside him, the palpable frustration in the air, but neither of them spoke. Henry had won this round, and they both knew it.
But that didn't mean it was over.
The two boys exchanged a glance, the same silent understanding passing between them. This wasn't the end. Not by a long shot.
"We'll be back," Gilbert muttered under his breath. "And next time, we'll have everything we need to take him down."
Damon nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. "We'll get him. When he least expects it."
They turned and walked away from Henry, retreating into the crowd, but their minds were already planning their next move. This game wasn't over yet, and they were more than willing to wait for the right moment to strike.