Chapter 1
My mom died. At her funeral, my so-called father, David Lane, was busy plotting with my stepsister, Jenny, about how to kick me out and steal the last home she'd left behind.
What they didn't know was that before her final breath, my mom gave me an inheritance that would change everything—a flash drive.
"Michael, I'm sorry. I lied to you," she whispered, her voice barely a thread. "Your father... he's not your real father. Years ago, when I had nowhere to turn, I was recruited into the Elite Gene Optimization Project.
"Your birth father is one of three prominent men — all staggeringly wealthy tycoons, far beyond ordinary billionaires. I have no inheritance to leave you other than this chance to find your roots. Securing your own future is the last favor I can grant you."
There were only three code names on the flash drive. The funeral had turned into a hunt. My targets? Three billionaire fathers I had never met.
The sky was a dirty shade of gray, and the drizzle hung thick and sticky in the air. Inside the funeral hall, the scent of sandalwood incense mingled with the rot of lilies, creeping into my nose and turning my stomach.
"Michael, just sign it," David said.
A dog-eared, crumpled contract was slapped onto the altar with a sharp smack. A smear of red oil still clung to the corner of his mouth—evidence he'd been sneaking braised pork in the lounge.
His small, puffy eyes showed no grief, just pure calculation. "This house was your mom's before she married me. Technically, Jenny and I deserve a cut. You're a grown man—don't tell me you plan to hog it all for yourself?"
Jenny, standing behind him, let out a sharp laugh. "Dad, why waste your breath? He doesn't even know who his real father is, and he's still holding on to our house. Isn't he afraid his mom won't rest in peace?"
The word bastard hit me like a knife. My nails dug into my palms, the pain sharp and real. I didn't say a word—just stared at my mom's gentle face in the photo, feeling the cold, sharp edge of the flash drive in my pocket.
About half an hour earlier, while things were hectic at the funeral, the nurse who'd been caring for my mom had slipped it to me when no one was watching.
I drew a shaky breath, my throat raw and gritty, as though I'd swallowed sand.
Pretending to be beaten down, I picked up the pen with trembling hands under David's greedy gaze. "The house... You can have it. But all of my mom's things—I'm taking every last piece."
"Yeah, yeah, take the junk!" David grabbed the contract as if he'd just hit the jackpot, and the look on his face made my stomach twist.
That night, I locked myself inside my cramped rented room. My old computer's fan whirred like it was on its last legs, filling the room with a dying whine. When the flash drive finally loaded, the screen's harsh glare pierced my eyes.
Three folders popped up: "Deep Sea," "Lone Wolf," and "Monolith."
I clicked on the first one. No name—just a secretly snapped profile photo of a man and a dense wall of asset data. His stare was cold as a blade. At the very bottom, a line of dark red text flickered:
"WARNING: None of them know you exist. If you're exposed, you will be eliminated."
My heart skipped a beat, and a cold sweat crawled down my spine.
My fingers trembled above the Enter key.
Using the IP traces and fragmented clues my mom left behind, I locked onto my first target—Adam Shaw, codenamed "Deep Sea."
He was the hottest rising star in tech over the past three years, the founder of Visionary Dynamics, a company now worth over three hundred billion dollars. The media called him a human computer. He was so precise that he didn't seem to have a single emotion.
To get close to him, I hacked into his company's internal recruitment system, forged a flawless resume, and turned myself into a quiet, tech-savvy entry-level algorithm intern.
The headquarters of Visionary Dynamics was all steel and concrete, exuding a suffocating sense of order. The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and the chill of air conditioning, and every inch of the floor shone like glass.
It didn't take long for me to notice Adam's quirks.
Every morning at 8:05 sharp, he'd step into the elevator, always wearing a pair of ultra-thin silk gloves on his left hand. Outside his office, there was a dedicated UV sanitation booth. No one was allowed past it except his personal assistant, Claire Simons.
"Michael, take this data report up to the 32nd floor," my team leader said impatiently, slapping the flash drive down on my desk.
My chance had come.
While Claire was held up for five minutes by my elevator card hack, I pushed open the heavy frosted glass door.
The office was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of an expensive air purifier breaking the silence. The desk was obsessively clean. Files were arranged by size, and even the pen was tilted at a precise angle, as if someone had used a protractor.
At the corner of the desk, inside the ashtray, I spotted a clear glass. On the rim, there was a faint, almost invisible ring of dried saliva.
My breath quickened, my heart pounding in my ears. I pulled the sample tube I'd prepared from my pocket, my fingers trembling uncontrollably from nerves.
As I was leaving, the automatic door behind me clicked open.
"Mr. Lane, what are you looking for?"
The voice was gentle but carried a razor-sharp edge. Claire stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing behind gold-rimmed glasses with a dangerous glint. She walked toward me slowly, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly, a chilling smile spreading across her lips.
"Mr. Shaw wants to see you. He said your scent reminds him of someone from his past."