Wenham Hotel was always a bustling place, a hub for high-end clients and shadowy figures alike.
Today, however, the air felt different—thicker, charged with tension that crept through the plush halls like an uninvited guest.
On the third floor—the designated meeting floor—a deal was about to be struck between very powerful kingpins.
The room was packed with their men, leaning against walls, hands shoved deep in coat pockets, silent but watchful.
Everyone there belonged to one side or the other. Well, everyone except one.
Sitting at the farthest corner of the room, unnoticed at first glance, was an eight-year-old girl dressed in a grandmother's oversized clothes.
A frumpy cardigan, oversized glasses, and a scarf draped in a feigned attempt to hide her childish face.
If someone squinted hard enough, they might almost believe the disguise. Almost.
She was Chloe, and she was neither lost nor harmless. Underneath the pretense, she was quietly recording everything—every whisper, every glance, every furtive exchange.
She held her phone tightly, ready to call 911 at a moment's notice. But when Watts said they knew she was there, she didn't even question.
I mean her first instinct wasn't to question how he knew but rather fear hit her first, icy and sharp.
She glanced around, suddenly aware of the eyes on her—the lingering stares from men who had been looking too frequently.
Before, she had brushed it off as simple curiosity—she was, after all, the only "old woman" in a room full of brooding men. But now, those glances felt more deliberate, more dangerous.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the parking lot, a red Chevrolet glided into a spot with practiced precision.
Out stepped a man who seemed as if he belonged everywhere and nowhere at once. He was young, sharp-featured, and handsome—his expensive dark-blue suit tailored to perfection, paired with a silver briefcase that caught the glint of the fading sun.
This was Watts, without a doubt.
Adjusting his suit jacket with an effortless flick of his wrist, he walked through the hotel entrance.
He didn't rush; he moved with the unhurried confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was walking into. Minutes later, he stepped out of the elevator onto the third floor.
The moment he entered the room, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned. Men who thought they had seen everything suddenly felt a flicker of unease.
Watts paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room like a searchlight before landing on the "old woman" sitting awkwardly in the corner. He approached slowly, ignoring the murmurs and curious eyes that followed him.
When he reached the table, he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, the moment he did, as if by magic, everyone went back to what they were doing, like they had forgotten about him.
"Having fun… old woman?" he teased, his voice a low murmur.
Chloe pouted, her little face barely hidden beneath the scarf. "Hmph. I almost had it."
"Mind telling me what this is about?" Watts asked in a hushed but serious tone, leaning forward slightly.
Chloe hesitated, glancing around nervously. "How did you…? Never mind. You have to help me. I think they know I'm here."
Watts tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. Chloe had always been sharp—too sharp for an eight-year-old.
Her memory was flawless, her instincts alarmingly precise. If she was putting her life on the line, there was a reason.
"You just realized this?" Watts muttered dryly, leaning back in his chair. He couldn't help but feel a little exasperated. She was repeating exactly what he'd told her moments ago.
Chloe raised her small hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! Just don't look at me like that. I'll explain. Christ."
Watts raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."
Chloe took a deep breath. "Last night, my dad came home out of nowhere. Didn't tell anyone. Didn't say hi. He just went straight to his study room. Whatever he was up to, it was serious."
Watts listened intently, every word turning gears in his mind. Chloe continued, her voice quiet but steady.
"A few minutes later, he called for my mom. They talked for a long time. I don't know what about. But then Mom came out, all frantic, and told me to go to your place. She didn't explain anything—just told me to leave."
Watts frowned. "And you ran away?"
"Well… not right away," Chloe admitted sheepishly. "I snuck into Mom's room first to look at the camera feeds."
"Of course you did," Watts said with a sigh.
Chloe ignored him. "That's when I saw them."
"Them?"
"A group of men in red suits with weird tattoos. They came into the house. Didn't talk to anyone. They had these… devices." Chloe shivered as she remembered. "The devices started flashing whenever they got close to someone. When it flashed red, they grabbed that person. First George, then some maids and even mom. They held them down and injected them with something."
Watts' eyes sharpened. "Injected?"
"Yeah. And the worst part?" Chloe's voice dropped to a whisper. "My dad just watched. He didn't do anything while they took Mom and the others away."
Watts didn't move, didn't blink. "And then?"
"They started coming toward my side of the house. I slipped into the vents and got out through the basement. I ran to your place, but you weren't there."
"I even called you with a phone I had borrowed on my way but you never picked"
"You mean stole, right?" Watts asked.
"What was I supposed to do?" Chloe shot back, crossing her arms.
Watts shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You… whatever. Go on."
"When I calmed down, I decided to go back. I snuck in again and checked Dad's study." Chloe's tone grew serious. "I might've… borrowed his password."
"Unbelievable," Watts muttered.
"On his laptop, I found files. Something about an organization called 'The Order.' They're looking for someone. They call him the Catalyst. And anyone with a trace of the Catalyst gets taken."
Chloe looked straight at Watts. "Thats what the devices are for.They're using tycoons and kingpins to help them. If they don't cooperate, The Order wipes them out."
Watts sat in stunned silence as her words sank in. Every nerve in his body was on edge, instincts screaming at him. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was one he didn't like.
"All the people they took… they'd been in contact with me." he muttered.
Coincidence? No. It couldn't be. He didn't believe in coincidences.
The word 'Catalyst' echoed in his mind like a warning bell. Who was The Order? And why were they looking for this Catalyst? The thought gnawed at him—a sinking dread he couldn't shake.
I had absolutely no information about these people yet they might know everything about me. I really needed to have information.
But I really hoped that whatever this Catalyst guy was, it was not me, because if it was me, then this would be fucked up.
I already had the paragons on my ass, I absolutely didn't want any more dogs on my tail.
But as I thought this, something attracted my attention, and the moment I looked.
"Fuck," was all I could say.