The Northvale Key

Get your filthy hands off those files before the dust ruins my expensive suit, Cassian. The voice was shrill, sharp, and filled with undisguised disgust. Cassian Northvale did not look up. He remained crouched on the concrete floor of the Valerian Group's stuffy basement, his nimble fingers continuing to tidy the stacks of archive folders yellowed by age. The smell of old paper and mold stung his nose, but it was far better than the pungent aroma of perfume from the man who had just walked in. Are you deaf too? I am talking to you, Record Keeper, Cyrus Ashworth snapped once more. The tip of his shiny leather shoe intentionally stepped on Cassian’s fingers as he held a document. Cassian sighed softly, feeling the hard pressure on his fingers. He looked up, staring at his wife's cousin with a flat, unreadable expression. I am sorry, Mr. Cyrus. This room is noisy from the hum of the cooling machines. I did not hear you come in. Laughter erupted from the doorway. Several staff members from the general department stood there, whispering while covering their mouths. They looked at Cassian as if they were watching a clown act at a zoo. Noisy? That is the sound of poverty crawling into your ears, Cassian! one of the staff members shouted, followed by even louder laughter. Cyrus pulled his foot back but did not let Cassian stand. He threw a brown folder onto the floor, right in front of Cassian’s face. The folder fell open, scattering messy contract sheets. Look at this. The logistics deal with the Miller family is a mess because of a data entry error in the backup system. And guess who was on entry duty last night? Cassian stared at the papers. He knew very well that it was not his fault. He had not even touched the system last night because Cyrus himself had ordered him to clean this warehouse until dawn. I did not enter any data last night, Mr. Cyrus. You know that. I do not want to hear your excuses! Cyrus leaned down, his face closing in on Cassian. His eyes gleamed with a wicked sense of triumph. Great Grandmother is already furious. The company lost nearly ten billion because of the shipping delay. Someone has to take responsibility, and that person is you, the trash who sponges off us. Why must it be me? Cassian asked, his voice remaining low, as calm as the surface of the water in an old well. Because of Lianna! Cyrus hissed. If you do not admit this as your personal mistake, then I will report to the board that your wife—our grand CEO—was the one who gave the wrong instructions. Which do you choose, Cassian? You being destroyed, or Lianna’s position becoming shaky? Cassian's jaw tightened. That name, Lianna, was always his weak point. Cyrus knew it. At Valerian Group, Lianna was fighting off wolves who wanted to topple her, and Cassian was the invisible shield who always took the bullets for her. Give me the pen, Cassian said coldly. Cyrus grinned widely, a smile that would make anyone want to vomit. He reached into his suit pocket and handed over a personal debt statement. Good. Very smart. You agree to bear this loss with the guarantee of an inheritance right that you do not even actually have. You will work for free for the Ashworth family for the rest of your life, Cassian. Cassian’s fingers held the pen steadily. Behind his weary eyes, a quick calculation took place. Ten billion? That did not even equal one hour’s interest on his private assets that he had locked away years ago. But in this world, to the Ashworth family, he was just a cockroach. Sign it, you parasite! Cyrus ordered again. The pen stroke was brief. Cassian Northvale signed his own financial sentence without trembling. Cyrus snatched the paper roughly, showing it off to the other staff as if it were the decapitated head of an enemy. Listen up, everyone! Starting today, every cent of this man’s minimalist salary will be deducted to pay for the company’s losses! And remember, do not let him out of this warehouse until seven tonight! The basement door slammed shut, leaving behind a darkness only pierced by a single flickering yellow light bulb. Cassian remained kneeling on the floor. Silence enveloped him. How much longer? he thought. He washed the dust off his hands with water from a nearly empty plastic bottle. For three years, he had been the red carpet stepped on by his wife's family. He accepted every insult, every kick, and every slander. All so he could stay inconspicuous. All so the dark eyes of the Coven Entity would never find him. But today was different. The pressure of Cyrus’s foot on his finger earlier had snapped his last thread of patience. Something that had been sleeping for a long time inside Cassian’s chest began to stir, something smelling of blood, gold, and revenge. The clock showed seven in the evening. Cassian stepped out of the grand Valerian Group building through a side door meant for cleaning staff. A light rain began to fall, soaking his worn-out, cheap shirt. His journey home was on a noisy old bus. Around him, people looked tired, ground down by the cruel wheels of the economy. Cassian got off at a dingy, lower-middle-class apartment block. He climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, each step heavy with racing thoughts. Inside the small apartment, silence greeted him. Lianna was not home yet. His wife must be working overtime, trying to save what was left of her family’s company, which was being eaten away by her own siblings. Cassian walked toward an old toolbox under the bed. His hand reached for the bottom of the box, past wrenches and rusty pliers, until his fingertips touched a black velvet cloth. Inside was hidden an object that looked ordinary to the layperson: an ancient copper-colored USB with a small lion engraved on its surface. It was the Northvale Key. Cassian sat at the small wooden table, placing his worn-out laptop in front of him. Its screen, cracked in the left corner, lit up, illuminating his tired face. His fingers hesitated for a moment over the USB port. If you open this, Cassian, you cannot go back to being an ordinary person. You are no longer just the husband of Lianna Ashworth. You will return to being Mr. North, hunted by the world. The image of his parents' blood-soaked faces from fifteen years ago flashed by. Lianna’s crying this afternoon because of Cyrus’s terror at the office echoed in his mind. Cassian closed his eyes, exhaling a long, heavy breath. His breathing sounded sharp in the narrow room. He was fed up. Sick of the humiliation. Sick of the helplessness. With one firm motion, he plugged in the copper USB. His laptop fan hissed loudly, trying to process encryption far beyond its technological capability. Suddenly, the once-dull screen changed completely. Blood-red codes flowed rapidly, replacing the usual operating system interface. A dialog box appeared in the center of the screen, containing only one line of short instructions. Scan biometrics for Northvale Throne Holder authentication. Cassian pressed his thumb against the laptop’s scanner sensor, which usually never worked. A flash of laser light swept across his skin. His heart beat fast, in sync with his suddenly wild pulse. Click. The screen flickered once. The red codes turned into a bright emerald green. Then, a large logo appeared: a shield with a golden crown surrounded by black thorns. A pop-up notification appeared in the bottom corner, showing a figure impossible for anyone at the Valerian Group building to imagine. EMERGENCY BALANCE ACTIVATED: $100,000,000.00 An automated message entered the main screen.