The Northvale Key

Episode 7

Cassian’s breath grew cold just as the three masked men lunged forward. Behind his back, the hotel door felt frozen. The faint sound of music from the elite banquet inside still lingered, creating a chilling contrast with the scent of rust and wet asphalt in this narrow alley.

"Northvale, protect your head," Lady North whispered in a terrifyingly flat tone.

The first man swung an iron pipe. Cassian moved by instinct, shifting slightly until the metal tip only kissed the wind. Without waiting even a second, Lady North glided forward. Her movements were like black lightning. With a single sweep, the heel of her shoe struck the first attacker's jaw. The sound of cracking bone echoed dryly through the drizzling rain.

"Finish them! Get the bag!" the second man roared.

"Who sent you?" Cassian spoke up, his eyes sharply observing his opponent's movements. He deliberately stayed in the dim shadows of a flickering bulb.

"You don't need to know the name of your grim reaper!"

However, before the man could take another step, a sensory bullet—not lead, but an electric shock—hit his chest from the deeper darkness. The man collapsed, his body twitching violently on the concrete.

Lady North glanced briefly toward the shadow of the building across the alley. Agent D was already in position. "That is enough introductions, Mr. North. They were just cheap pawns to bait your martial arts skills."

"They are after this key," Cassian said, feeling the copper USB in his suit pocket.

"They are after your existence. Now go. Re-enter through the employee elevator. Let me take care of this plastic trash," Lady North wiped raindrops off her suit sleeve. "And remember one thing... Tomorrow morning, even more disgusting 'trash' will be waiting for you at the office. Settle it financially, not with dirty hands."

Cassian nodded without a word. He disappeared behind the iron door, leaving a haunting silence in the back alley.

The next morning, the atmosphere on the Valerian Group’s logistics floor felt like a funeral parlor filled with toxic gas. Cyrus Ashworth looked a mess. His tie was crooked, his face was puffy, and the smell of overly strong coffee wafted from his breath. His defeat the night before—losing the Golden Falcon statue bought by his wife’s mysterious supporter—had made him the laughingstock of the board of directors.

"Lianna! Get into the board office now!" Cyrus screamed from the doorway, his voice hoarse and full of rage.

Lianna, who had just set down her bag, was startled. "What is it, Cyrus? Grandmother is not in the mood to be disturbed."

"Don't act so innocent!" Cyrus slammed a stack of files onto Lianna's desk, making several staff members duck in fear. "The CSR funds for the gallery building in Silver-Gate must be reallocated for urgent logistics operations. I need your signature for a five hundred thousand dollar disbursement right now!"

Lianna shook her head firmly. "That is foundation money, Cyrus. I already promised it to the artisans. You cannot just take it to cover your debt holes in the logistics department!"

"This is not a request, Lianna! If the logistics department falls because of the Stark contract failure yesterday, Valerian is finished!" Cyrus leaned in close, his eyes gleaming with pressure. "Which do you choose? Give me that signature, or I will tell Grandmother that you were the one who embezzled five million dollars to buy that statue last night?"

"That was not my money, Cyrus! And I do not know who paid for it!" Lianna shouted in frustration, tears starting to well up.

From a corner cubicle, Cassian listened to everything. His seemingly idle fingers began to move nimbly across the keyboard. On his screen, a terminal window with the Deep-Internal-Shadow protocol opened.

Activate Fund Flow Interception mode: Cyrus Ashworth.

A synthetic voice whispered into Cassian's ear via a hidden wireless earpiece. "Illegal access detected on the secondary bookkeeping system since six months ago. Total accumulated value: Three million US dollars. Sender: Stark Capital Shell Account. Recipient: An offshore account under Cyrus Ashworth's alias."

Cassian smiled coldly. This little dog was truly eating the scraps of the enemy's bones.

"Send all transaction logs, Stark communication screenshots, and this money laundering data to the city's independent audit department and the monitor in Great Grandmother's office now. Title it: Internal Parasite Leak Report," Cassian commanded through his thoughts as they were translated by the AI.

"Confirmed, Mr. Northvale. Sending in ten seconds."

In the main office, Great Grandmother was sipping warm green tea when her computer screen suddenly changed. It was not stock market charts that appeared, but a fast-moving sequence of red numbers. The sender's IP address was covered by seven layers of encryption that were impossible to penetrate.

"Cyrus! Lianna!" Great Grandmother’s scream echoed through the corridor, overpowering Cyrus's earlier commotion.

Cyrus, who was forcing a pen into Lianna's hand, froze instantly. His face turned deathly pale. "Grandmother?"

Lianna immediately ran toward the Matriarch's room, followed by a trembling Cyrus. Cassian stood up from his chair, straightened his worn-out shirt collar, and calmly followed them from a distance.

Once inside the office, Great Grandmother smashed her mouse until it broke. "Look at this, Cyrus! Tell me this is just a sick joke!"

Cyrus approached the screen, and when he saw the details of his transactions with agent Kenneth Stark, his legs went weak. "Grandmother, this... this is not what it looks like. I did it for strategic interests! I was trying to bridge us with Stark!"

"By letting this company slowly rot from the inside?" Great Grandmother roared. "Three million dollars! You moved logistics funds into your private pocket while administrative staff had to work overtime without proper pay!"

"It is a setup! Lianna! You must be the one who did this, right?" Cyrus pointed at his cousin crazily.

Lianna stared at the screen, her hand over her mouth. "I... I do not even have access to that secondary system, Cyrus. Only you held the key along with the old audit."

Suddenly, Cassian appeared at the door, holding a thin folder containing daily coffee receipts. "Sorry to interrupt, Great Grandmother. I just wanted to submit the warehouse expense notes..."

"Get out, you Trash! Do not interfere in this!" snapped Cyrus, trying to vent his fear on Cassian.

However, Great Grandmother stopped Cassian with a raised hand. Her gaze was fixed on the monitor, which had just displayed a final closing sentence: Anyone who feeds Stark's watchdog in your house is preparing a key for a thief in the night.

"Shut up, Cyrus!" Great Grandmother barked. Her voice was cold, a deadly kind of cold. "Strip him of all junior director access. Now! Get security, drag him out of this building. You are terminated from your position effective this second, Cyrus Ashworth."

"Grandmother! You cannot do this! I am family!" Cyrus screamed as two large security guards dragged him down the corridor. He continued to struggle, his voice filling the Valerian building and becoming a humiliating spectacle for the entire staff.

Lianna sat down weakly on the guest sofa, while Great Grandmother stood facing the large window, her back to both of them. The atmosphere in the room became very heavy.

"Are you happy to see your own family destroyed, Lianna?" Great Grandmother asked suddenly, her voice hollow.

"I did not destroy him, Grandmother. I was only trying to protect it," Lianna replied slowly.

"Protect? You could not even smell the stench in the logistics department for months. Someone very powerful is watching us from out there..."

"...someone capable of breaching our strongest servers in seconds to leak this rot."

Great-Grandmother's gaze slowly swept around, stopping right on Cassian, who still stood stiffly near the door with an expressionless face.

"Cassian," she called out sharply.

"Yes, Great-Grandmother?"

"Close the door and come closer," she commanded. Cassian obeyed, but as his eyes met the Matriarch's gaze, he saw a deep sense of suspicion lingering there. "You're just a useless clerk, aren't you? For three years, you've done nothing but live off your wife’s success. But explain this to me... why is it that every time a storm hits this company, you're always the calmest person in the room, standing there in the corner?"

Cassian lowered his voice, refining his loser persona. "I'm just a poor man with no burden of power to worry about, Great-Grandmother. Isn't it safer for someone like me to remain silent?"

Great-Grandmother snorted cynically, a faint, condescending smile appearing on her wrinkled face. "Safe for you, perhaps, but dangerous for me. Listen closely: don't think for a second that just because Cyrus has fallen, you've become important. This company is reeling from outside attacks. I'm ordering you to keep your head down. Don't you dare speak in public or show your drab face at any upcoming events. Stay a useless shadow, just like always."

"I understand, Great-Grandmother," Cassian replied calmly, though he was laughing at the old woman in his heart.

"Lianna, take over the junior department's duties for now," the Matriarch continued. "We must be prepared. Kenneth Stark will certainly be furious now that his pawn has been removed. He isn't the type of man to accept defeat gracefully."

Cassian walked out behind Lianna. In the quiet corridor, Lianna took her husband's arm, looking at him with a mix of confusion and gratitude. "I don't know why, but I feel like you're always there whenever the world feels like it's falling apart, Cassian."

"Maybe it's just a fool's luck," Cassian whispered with a soft smile. "Go on to work. You have a lot of new responsibilities now."

As Lianna walked away, Cassian reached for his secret phone. A new notification had arrived—not from the Syndicate, nor from the Lady of the North. It was a video message from an anonymous number.

Cassian cautiously pressed play.

The screen showed black-and-white footage of a dilapidated playground, the place where Cassian used to play with his parents fifteen years ago. Suddenly, a figure in a black suit, with his back to the camera, stood in the middle of a self-swinging swing set. The man turned slowly, and though his face was digitally blurred, a silver pendant around his neck was clearly visible.

The pendant was shaped like two crossing thorns—the death sentence symbol of the Coven Entity.

A deep, electronically distorted voice came through the phone’s audio: "Congratulations on your minor victory against a mere office rat, Cassian. But do you remember the smell of smoke from your burning house? Tonight, we will remind you what it feels like to lose everything... starting with your wife."

Cassian’s eyes widened. He immediately looked toward the end of the corridor where Lianna had just turned toward the elevator, just in time to see a lift technician he had never seen before following her into the confined space.

"Lianna! Wait!" Cassian shouted, his voice thundering and shattering his facade of calm.