"You need to understand something," Ogilvy said calmly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Our boss is a cautious man. The only reason he would send me here is for one thing."
His eyes rested on Manager Cicero with a look that carried both confidence and warning.
Cicero was no fool. He understood immediately.
Sitting up straight, he spoke with forced confidence. "Everything on my end has been handled perfectly. All appraisal certificates are in place, issued by top-tier, authoritative institutions. Any basic verification method will find no flaws at all. Those rich collectors who love harvesting rewards without effort won't question the diamond's authenticity."
If anyone outside this room had heard those words, they would have been stunned.
The appraisal certificate for the so-called world's largest pink diamond—the centerpiece of Gotham's upcoming elite auction—was forged.
And the one who arranged it wasn't a street criminal or underground broker.
It was the executive general manager of Gotham International Hotel himself.
For years, the hotel had enjoyed an impeccable reputation. High-end auctions, elite gatherings, and international events were regularly hosted here. Cicero had overseen countless auctions without a single scandal.
No one would have imagined that this trusted figure had secretly partnered with the underworld—working directly with The Penguin to execute a massive auction fraud.
"Is that so?" Ogilvy said softly.
His eyes narrowed.
"Then explain this," he continued. "Why has Gotham recently been flooded with rumors claiming the auction diamond is fake? Some people are even saying that our boss is the seller behind it."
The air in the room dropped several degrees.
"Only we know the truth," Ogilvy said coldly, "along with that puppet running the shipping company. So tell me—do you have an explanation?"
"I don't know anything about those rumors!" Cicero shot to his feet, his composure cracking. "I swear it. I haven't told a single extra person. Not one."
"Relax," Ogilvy said, raising a hand. "The boss still trusts you. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you."
Cicero's legs felt weak as he slowly sat back down, relief washing over him.
"But," Ogilvy continued, his tone sharpening, "the starting bid for this diamond is no less than thirty million dollars. This is not a small operation. The boss takes it very seriously."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And most importantly—do not let the diamond have any public connection to the boss. At all."
"Understood," Cicero nodded rapidly. "I know the rules."
"Good." Ogilvy stood and extended his hand. "After this is done, you'll get your share. Let's enjoy a smooth cooperation."
They shook hands, smiling politely.
Neither of them knew—
That right above their heads, hidden behind metal and dust, an uninvited listener had heard everything.
---
Inside the ventilation duct, Dean lay flat against the iron grate, his body pressed tightly against rusted metal.
"Wow," he murmured silently. "I really did hear something incredible."
Peering down through the narrow slits, he had a perfect view of the room below.
"So the pink diamond really is Penguin's," he thought. "And judging by that conversation… it's a high-quality fake."
His eyes flickered with excitement.
A brand-new plan began forming in his mind.
Below, Ogilvy and Cicero finished their discussion. They rose from their seats, their subordinates gathering behind them as they turned toward the exit.
That was Dean's moment.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, a white card appeared between his fingers.
He aimed.
Then, just as everyone below had their backs turned, he snapped his finger.
The card shot downward.
It struck the iron grate, bounced off the floor at an impossible angle, and slid smoothly across the room—landing neatly on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
"—Did you hear that?"
Ogilvy froze.
In one fluid motion, he drew his gun and spun around, eyes scanning the suite.
On the coffee table sat a white card that had not been there before.
His subordinates reacted half a second later, but that was enough. Guns were drawn instantly, and the men spread out in a disciplined arc, covering every corner of the room.
These were not street thugs.
These were professionals.
Only Cicero stood frozen in confusion.
"What… what's happening?"
"Quiet," Ogilvy hissed, holding up a finger.
He didn't approach the card.
Instead, he gave a sharp look to his men.
What followed made Cicero's heart bleed.
The luxurious presidential suite was torn apart.
Cushions ripped open. Cabinets overturned. Decorative panels smashed. Priceless furniture scratched and broken without hesitation.
After a thorough search, they found nothing.
No intruder.
No hidden path.
Only then did Ogilvy step forward.
He picked up the card.
The moment he read it, his pupils contracted violently.
---
Meanwhile — Gotham International Hotel Rooftop
Dean crawled out of the ventilation duct, coated in dust and rust.
"Cough—cough—" He bent over, hacking twice. "I'm taking eight showers when I get home."
The ventilation duct had been cramped, filthy, and suffocating. Crawling through it felt like punishment for sins he hadn't committed.
He took several deep breaths, letting the fresh night air wash away the stench.
Then he straightened.
"It's time," Dean said quietly, a smile curling his lips, "for Kaito Kid's name to echo across Gotham."
Standing at the edge of the rooftop, he grabbed his collar and gave it a sharp pull.
In an instant, his disguise vanished.
A pure white tuxedo replaced the black suit.
A snow-white cape unfurled behind him, fluttering in the wind.
A top hat settled neatly atop his head.
Kaito Kid had returned.
Dean looked down at the glowing streets below—cars streaming like rivers of light, pedestrians unaware of what was about to happen.
Then he stepped forward—
And leaped.
His body fell freely through the night sky.
But he wasn't panicked.
With a smooth motion, he activated a hidden mechanism. The cape stiffened instantly, transforming into a delta-wing glider.
Kaito Kid caught the wind and soared.
"There—look up!"
A pedestrian shouted.
"Is that… a person flying?"
"I've seen him before!" someone exclaimed. "That's Kaito Kid!"
"Wait—something's falling behind him!"
White shapes fluttered down from the sky like snow.
Cards.
Dozens of them.
People reached out, catching them midair or picking them up from the ground. Each card was pure white, printed with elegant lettering—and a small cartoon image of Kaito Kid in the corner.
They were his preview letters.
His declaration.
> **"The feast of nobles, luxurious and boisterous,
No one remembers the tragedy of Troy.
When Kronos returns to the origin,
Hermes shall appear beneath the gaze of all,
To reveal the final deception.
Sincerely,
Kaito Kid."**
High above Gotham, a phantom thief laughed softly as he vanished into the night.
The preview letter had reappeared.
And the city would never sleep peacefully again.
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