The next morning, London looked washed out—gray skies pressing low over the skyline, drizzle streaking down the glass facade of Graywood Tower. The building itself seemed half-asleep, its mirrored surface catching only fragments of the waking city.
Inside, the lobby hummed with a quiet rhythm—footsteps on marble, the faint echo of elevators, and the polite exchanges of workers too disciplined to sound human. Ethan stepped in with his ID card swinging from his neck, still feeling the heavy unease from yesterday's strange, sterile welcome.
He had worked in offices before—internships, summer jobs, even night shifts—but nothing like this. Graywood Capital didn't feel alive; it felt orchestrated. Every movement, every voice, carried a strange synchrony, like someone was quietly keeping time.
As he passed through the metal detectors, a security guard nodded to him without smiling. Another tapped a tablet, marking his arrival. Their eyes didn't linger—but somehow, he felt watched.
"Morning, sunshine."
Ethan turned. Clara Brooks stood by the reception desk, holding two cups of coffee, her blonde hair tied loosely, her smile carrying that teasing warmth that had already made her his unofficial guide.
"You look like someone just found out he signed a deal with the devil," she said, handing him a cup.
Ethan managed a small grin. "Feels like it."
She shrugged, walking beside him toward the elevators. "You'll get used to it. The silence, the cameras, the random people who never say good morning. It's just… Graywood."
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
Inside, mirrored walls reflected their faces from every angle—Ethan's uncertain, Clara's unreadable. For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet hum of the elevator filled the air like a pulse.
Then Clara broke the silence. "You're in Accounting, right? Replacing…" She hesitated slightly, her eyes flicking upward as though searching for the right word. "...someone?"
Ethan nodded. "That's what HR said. I didn't even get a full handover. There were just… old files. Strange entries. Something about a ledger?"
Clara's smile faltered for the briefest second. "Ah. The ledger."
She said it softly—too softly—and then quickly forced another smile, sipping her coffee.
"I wouldn't worry about that," she added lightly. "Half the files in this place don't make sense. You'll see things that don't add up, numbers that loop on themselves, accounts that vanish and reappear. Happens all the time."
Ethan frowned. "That doesn't sound normal."
"Normal is relative," she said. "Here, what matters isn't whether something makes sense—it's whether it balances."
The elevator doors opened on the twenty-seventh floor.
The air here was cooler. Rows of desks stretched like an ocean under white lights, each one perfectly organized—pens aligned, monitors centered, no signs of personality anywhere. People typed in silence, their eyes locked on screens. No chatter. No laughter.
As they stepped out, Clara lowered her voice. "Let me give you a little free advice, new guy. Don't go poking into anything labeled 'internal ledger.' Not unless someone explicitly tells you to."
Ethan looked at her. "Why?"
"Because curiosity here is a career hazard."
He tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. "You sound serious."
"I am."
Her tone changed—flat, colder. Then just as quickly, she smiled again, masking it. "Anyway, I'm just the HR gossip queen. What do I know, right?"
Ethan didn't respond. But the words internal ledger sank deep into his mind like a hook.
---
Hours passed. The day moved in slow, muted cycles—emails, reports, polite nods. Ethan buried himself in financial spreadsheets, but patterns began to emerge that didn't fit. Repeated transactions that seemed coded, not random. Numbers referenced the same offshore accounts again and again—but always just below the threshold of reporting.
When he asked an analyst beside him about it, she gave a blank stare and said, "It's government-backed. Don't question it."
Government-backed.
The same words that had appeared on half the memos Daniel Dawson Reeve had sent before his death.
Ethan rubbed his temples, feeling that quiet prickle of suspicion.
Across the room, Clara watched him from her glass-walled office. Her expression was unreadable—part worry, part recognition. She saw it. That same restless curiosity that had burned in her brother's eyes years ago.
She stood, walked out, and leaned on the edge of his desk. "You look like someone's seen a ghost."
Ethan looked up. "Just… trying to understand how billions move without a trail."
"Ah, then you'll fit right in," she said with a wry smile. "Everyone here pretends not to see the ghosts."
"Ghosts?" he asked.
She tilted her head slightly. "Paper ghosts. Transactions that disappear. Accounts that rewrite themselves. The company's been… creative lately."
Ethan's chest tightened. "Is that why the last accountant left?"
Clara's lips parted, then closed. A small pause. "Something like that."
Before he could ask more, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and frowned. "Board meeting. You should take a break—go upstairs and get some air. You'll need it."
She turned to leave, then hesitated. "And, Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
Her voice dropped low. "If you ever find something called the ledger, don't open it."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Ethan sat there, frozen, staring at the monitors.
The hum of the floor grew louder, almost mechanical.
And for a moment—just a moment—he could have sworn the numbers on his screen shifted on their own.
By the time Clara reached the thirty-fourth floor, the sky had darkened into a dim slate. The boardroom lights reflected off the long obsidian table like water under ice.
A handful of executives already waited—each of them dressed in shades of black and gray, expensive watches glinting faintly in the gloom. At the head of the table sat Evelyn Crowe.
She was motionless, elegant, her posture flawless. A silk blouse, dark suit, and that expression—serene, unreadable. Even the way she turned her head carried weight.
"Let's begin," she said.
The Head of Finance tapped a small remote, and the screens along the wall flickered to life. Charts and numbers unfolded in smooth motion—government partnerships, infrastructure funds, energy investments.
"Graywood Capital has successfully secured ₤3.5 billion in assets for the government's national redevelopment initiative," he said. "Allocation begins next quarter. Oversight remains under our authority."
Polite nods filled the room.
The CFO, Jonathan Hale, smiled faintly. "That places us three months ahead of schedule. The Treasury will be pleased."
"They'd better be," murmured someone from Legal. "We wrote half the regulations they're using."
Soft laughter followed, sharp and empty.
Evelyn remained silent. Her fingers rested lightly on the table, her eyes scanning the reports as if reading a language only she understood.
Then she spoke. "And the transfers?"
"All processed through intermediary accounts," Hale replied. "No visible link to Graywood. We've rerouted them through four shell subsidiaries, two under foreign names. The ledger entries have been archived in the private network."
"The ledger," Evelyn repeated, almost inaudibly.
Something flickered behind her eyes—a shadow, a memory—but it was gone in an instant.
The Head of Security, a lean man with close-cropped hair, cleared his throat. "There is… one concern. The new accountant. Ethan Cole. He's clean, but his activity log shows longer access periods than necessary. It's possible he's seen the pattern."
"Pattern?" Evelyn asked softly.
"The transaction loops. He's looking too closely."
Evelyn's gaze drifted to the window where the rain had begun again, soft and relentless. "And Clara?"
Hale glanced up. "Still in HR. Still doing her usual… social routine."
"Good," Evelyn said. "Keep it that way. If anyone can distract him, it's her."
There was an undertone to her words, something even the others didn't want to question.
"Shall we flag his account for observation?" the Security Head asked.
Evelyn smiled—a small, elegant gesture that made the room go still. "No need. Let the system test him. If he's curious, he'll find his way to the truth. And when he does…"
She looked directly at Hale.
"…we'll see what kind of man he is."
The CFO nodded once.
Someone shifted nervously. The rain beat harder against the windows.
Evelyn folded her hands. "There's one more thing."
The room quieted immediately.
"Tomorrow morning, release the press brief about the ₤3.5 billion transfer. Make sure every outlet phrases it the same way—'Graywood delivers results where others delay.'"
"Of course," Hale said. "And the ledger, ma'am? Should we lock it?"
Evelyn looked at him for a long time. Her eyes were calm, but there was a strange, deep sadness there—something only those closest to her might have recognized once, long ago.
"No," she said finally. "Let it rest. Some ghosts need to sleep."
---
The meeting dissolved slowly after that—papers gathered, chairs sliding back, voices murmuring. The directors filed out, leaving Evelyn alone with the soft hum of the building around her.
She stood, walking to the glass wall. From here, London stretched beneath her like a circuit board—lights flickering, endless, obedient.
For a long while, she said nothing. The rain streaked the glass, blurring the city's shape. Her reflection looked ghostly against it—half real, half memory.
Then her phone buzzed on the table.
A single message.
> "It's done. The numbers match. He's starting to ask questions."
No name. No sender ID. Just that line.
Evelyn read it twice, then locked the phone and placed it gently on the table.
Her eyes drifted toward the far corner of the room where a painting hung—a dark landscape, half-covered in mist. To anyone else, it was just art. But behind it, sealed in the wall, was the vault.
Inside that vault lay the private server. The ledger.
The one Daniel Dawson Reeve had died for.
Her reflection wavered again, caught in the rain's shimmer. And finally, she whispered—quiet enough that no microphone, no hidden camera, could catch it:
> "Don't worry… I'll bring you back from the dead."
The storm rolled outside.
The lights dimmed.
And on the floor below, Ethan Cole's screen flickered once, displaying a single unauthorized pop-up before disappearing.
ACCESS TRACE: LEDGER (LOCKED)
Ethan stared at the monitor, pulse quickening.
"Ledger?" he muttered.
Then everything went black.