Chapter 4 A GHOST IN THE SYSTEM

Kelvin's POV

The moment I saw my father's broken wristwatch, everything inside me paused.

The blood. The scratches. The dent near the crown.

That watch had been on his wrist for as long as I could remember. He wore it every single day, even when we had no food to eat or money to survive, he never took it off.

Now, it was in my hand.

Cold. Lifeless. Broken.

Just like him.

My fingers curled around it slowly, and I brought it to my chest. For a second, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. But every breath came with a price. Every inhale brought with it memories I wasn't ready to handle. His laughter. His advice. His warnings.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to fight.

But instead, I stood there in silence... watching the empty street outside my window, knowing that Lord Sampson had sent a message.

He knew I was alive.

He knew what I was doing.

And worse...

He was watching me.

I spent the rest of the day pacing the room, turning over every possible option in my mind. Rico had given me valuable information, but now I was exposed. Whoever that stranger was, he didn't just show up randomly. Lord Sampson was sending a warning.

"You're not invisible anymore, Kelvin."

I thought about running. Disappearing with my family. But that would mean letting my father's death go unpunished. And that wasn't an option.

I was already too deep.

I couldn't turn back now.

So, I did the next best thing - I called Rico.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" he hissed. "You're not supposed to contact me directly."

"I don't care," I replied. "Someone came to my house today."

There was silence on the line.

"A man. Leather coat. Cold eyes. Left my dad's watch."

"Sh*t," he muttered. "He's putting pressure already."

"Then I need to move faster," I said. "You told me there were men inside the organization who wanted out. Help me find them."

He sighed. "Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because this isn't a game. If we get caught... it won't be your father they bury next."

Over the next two weeks, Rico and I worked in the shadows.

He introduced me to names. Ghosts in the system.

Men who wore suits by day and carried knives by night. Men who shook Lord Sampson's hand while secretly planning to stab him in the back.

One by one, I met them.

In train stations. In car parks. In crowded bars where no one paid attention to who you were or what you were whispering over a beer.

There was Mikel, a former hitman who'd grown tired of watching kids get dragged into wars they never asked for.

There was Darius, an informant with eyes everywhere and loyalty to no one.

And there was Franco, the accountant.

He didn't look like a threat. Skinny, nervous, always adjusting his glasses. But behind those lenses was a brain that knew everything. Where the money came from. Where it went. Who was paid to kill. Who was paid to disappear.

"Lord Sampson trusts me," Franco whispered during our first meeting. "Which means I see everything. I know who's loyal. I know who's pretending."

I leaned forward. "Then help me tear him down from the inside."

Franco hesitated. His fingers trembled as he sipped his drink. "You remind me of your father," he said. "He came to me once, too. Looking for a way out."

I blinked. "What?"

Franco nodded. "He knew something was wrong. He was planning to leave the organization quietly. But someone snitched. That's why they came for him."

My blood ran cold.

"He... he didn't betray Lord Sampson?" I asked.

"No," Franco replied. "He was protecting you. He wanted to get you out of this city before things turned bad."

I looked down at my hands. My father died not because he failed the mafia...

He died because he wanted to save me.

I clenched my fists and stood up. "Then I'll finish what he started."

By the end of the month, I had formed my own secret network, a small but growing rebellion.

We called ourselves The Ghost Syndicate.

We didn't wear colors.

We didn't leave marks.

We didn't scream war.

But every move we made sent a quiet message to Lord Sampson:

We're here. We're coming. And we're not afraid.

We sabotaged shipments.

We leaked information to rival gangs.

We disrupted deals.

Every success gave me strength. Every close call made me smarter.

But then something unexpected happened.

In the middle of all this chaos... I saw her.

Beatrice.

She walked into the café I had been using as my meeting point. Dressed in white, with her hair tied back, she looked like an angel in the middle of a war zone.

She hadn't seen me yet.

My heart slammed against my chest as I watched her place her order and sit down.

What was she doing here?

I stood up slowly and walked over.

"Beatrice?" I asked.

She turned, her eyes widened in shock.

"Kelvin?" she whispered.

I nodded.

And then she did something I wasn't expecting.

She hugged me.

Tightly.

So tightly, I forgot we were enemies now. That her father was the man who murdered mine.

We stood there for several seconds before she finally pulled back.

"I've been looking for you," she said. "Where have you been?"

I didn't know what to say.

"I thought you hated me," I replied.

"I could never hate you," she whispered.

"But I'm the enemy now. Remember?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't care. You're the only one who ever looked at me like I mattered, not like I was just Lord Sampson's daughter."

I didn't know what hurt more, the way she said that, or the way part of me still loved her despite everything.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

I leaned closer.

"My father... he's planning something big. Something dangerous. And I think you're involved."

My blood froze.

"What do you mean?"

"He's been acting strange. More secretive than usual. He's even pulled guards off the mansion to use elsewhere. Something's going on."

I exhaled slowly. "Beatrice, you can't be seen with me. If your father finds out-"

"I don't care," she cut me off. "I'm not like him."

Her voice cracked.

"I want to help you."

I stepped back. My head was spinning. I had waited for this moment - the day she would turn her back on her father, but now that it was here, I didn't know what to do.

"Please," she whispered. "Trust me."

I did.

Maybe I was foolish.

Maybe I was desperate.

But that night, I gave her a burner phone. "If anything happens, call me."

She nodded and disappeared into the night.

I returned home that evening, exhausted and conflicted.

But the moment I entered my room, I froze.

Everything had been touched.

My drawer was open.

My clothes moved.

And there, on my bed, was a single note written in red ink.

"You let her in. Now we'll let the blood out."