Steve's POV
Two days later, the warehouse was a memory.
The council scattered like ants under floodlight.
Koleosho was locked away in a high-security military prison—his empire unraveling in the courts and on the streets.
But peace, I was learning, didn't come quietly.
And it didn't last long.
I was sitting in the old priest's chapel safehouse, rebandaging my shoulder, when Korede's voice buzzed in over encrypted comms.
"Steve. We have a problem."
I didn't need more problems.
Too bad.
"Talk."
"I found something in Koleosho's backdoor files. It's called the Trigger Code. And your name is hard-coded into it."
I froze.
"What kind of code?"
"It's not just a kill switch. It's a legacy lock. If it activates… every name, every safehouse, every deal the council ever touched gets leaked. And you—Jomi—her father—everyone goes down with it."
I stood.
"Who controls it?"
Korede hesitated. "Steve… it's not a person."
I felt the cold crawl up my spine.
"It's an AI."
Jomiloju's POV
The word felt like it didn't belong in our story.
AI?
Artificial intelligence?
We'd survived bullets, betrayals, blood and tears.
Now we were up against a machine?
Korede pulled up an old laptop, projecting the system on a cracked screen inside the chapel's cellar.
At the center pulsed a red icon:
TRIGGER CODE – ARIES.PY
Korede tapped a key.
"This isn't just a program. It's a failsafe created by Koleosho's personal hacker. They called it Aries. It doesn't need a user. Just a signal."
"What kind of signal?" Steve asked.
Korede looked grim. "His death. If Koleosho flatlines… Aries activates."
Steve's POV
Of course.
The bastard was still controlling the game—even from a cage.
If someone tried to kill him, the machine would fire back with data destruction.
Or worse—data release.
Names. Faces. Children.
Jomi.
My sister's hidden history.
The location of her mother's recovery home.
Everything.
I clenched my fist, still stiff from the last fight.
"And if we want to shut it down?"
Korede exhaled.
"We need the cipher code. And there's only one place it was ever stored."
"Where?"
Korede's voice dropped.
"Steve… it's in your father's vault."
Jomiloju's POV
I looked at Steve.
He went quiet in a way that meant something deep was unraveling inside him.
"Steve… your father?"
He didn't answer at first.
Then he walked to the altar, set his gun down, and said words I never thought I'd hear.
"My father wasn't just killed by Koleosho."
I moved closer.
He turned.
"He was partners with him. Before everything. Before the betrayal. Before they made me an orphan."
He looked at Korede.
"You said vault. Where?"
Korede pulled up a blueprint.
"Old Federal Reserve vault. Island sector. Black zone access only. And sealed since 2007."
Steve nodded.
"We go tonight."
Steve's POV
I didn't want Jomi coming.
But I didn't say it.
Because this was no longer just my war.
It was ours.
We drove through backroads, past markets asleep under flickering bulbs, past men with machetes and girls in sandals and old ghosts selling secrets.
The island sector loomed ahead—abandoned, waterlogged, but still watching.
We parked behind an old bakery front and slipped through a rusted alley gate.
I knew the vault from memory.
But memory is dangerous when mixed with emotion.
Because the closer we got, the more I remembered.
The last time I was here… I was ten.
And my father was still alive.
Jomiloju's POV
The vault door was sealed behind six inches of steel and four layers of biometric clearance.
Korede hacked the first two.
Steve cracked the next.
The final layer—a retina scan—belonged to his father.
"I can bypass it," Korede whispered, wires hooked to a tablet, "but it'll take time."
"No," Steve said quietly.
He reached into his pocket.
And pulled out a contact lens.
"This has his retina scan. I had it made from his autopsy."
I stared at him.
"You kept that all this time?"
Steve didn't look at me.
"Redemption requires remembering."
The door hissed.
Opened.
And inside… was everything.
Steve's POV
The vault was a time capsule.
Cash stacked in towers.
Old photos.
Blueprints.
And a single black drive inside a safe.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was a USB stick etched with the same logo Korede showed me on his laptop.
Aries.
And beside it—a letter.
Handwritten.
Addressed to me.
I didn't read it.
Not yet.
I gave the drive to Korede.
"Shut it down. Now."
Korede plugged it into the laptop.
Then stopped.
"Oh no."
"What?"
"It's voice-locked."
"Meaning?"
He turned the screen toward me.
A single line blinked:
"Speak the name of your blood to end the code."
Jomiloju's POV
"What does that mean?" I asked.
Steve stared at the screen.
Then whispered, "It means… I have to say his name."
"Your father's?"
He nodded.
"But not the name he gave the world. The name he gave only me."
Korede looked stunned. "That level of encryption—Steve, no one else could've shut this down."
I stepped beside Steve.
"You can do this."
But his jaw tightened.
And he looked… afraid.
"I haven't said that name since the night he died."
I touched his chest.
"Then say it. Say it now. For me."
Steve's POV
My hands trembled.
The vault spun.
All the memories I'd buried came back at once.
His laugh.
His hands.
His voice when he tucked me in.
I closed my eyes.
And said it.
"...Papa."
The screen flashed green.
Aries Deactivated.
Trigger Code Terminated.
And just like that—the legacy of war died with a whisper.