Chapter 4 - The University’s Darkest DonorTyler Whitmore was the most arrogant of the trio. As the son of Arthur Whitmore—the university’s largest benefactor and a real estate tycoon who owned half the state—Tyler believed he was above human laws. He was the one who had pinned Lily against the brick wall while Ethan struck her, laughing while she begged them to stop.
Arthur Whitmore was holding an emergency board meeting at the university’s executive tower when the digital apocalypse struck. The massive boardroom screens, usually displaying quarterly financial growths, flickered violently.
Instead of stock charts, high-resolution surveillance footage filled the room—footage not just of the alley attack, but of decades of shady land grabs, forced evictions, and payoff schemes orchestrated by Arthur Whitmore himself to build his real estate empire.
"Turn that off!" Arthur roared, slamming his fist on the polished oak table, turning crimson with rage. "Security! Get in here and shut down these servers!"
The heavy oak doors didn't open for security. Instead, they slowly clicked and swung wide open.
A single figure walked into the boardroom.
I wore a simple charcoal trench coat, my face partially shadowed under the brim of a cap, but my eyes—cold, dead, and piercing—locked instantly onto Arthur Whitmore. The board members shrank back in terror, sensing an aura of absolute, terrifying authority that money could never buy.
"Who the hell are you?" Arthur demanded, standing up and puffing out his chest. "Do you know who I am? I fund this entire institution! I can have you thrown in a hole so deep you'll never see daylight!"
I didn't answer right away. I walked slowly to the head of the table, pulling a heavy steel flash drive from my pocket and plugging it directly into the boardroom's main console.
"You funded a lot of things, Arthur," I said, my voice cutting through the silent room like a razor blade. "You funded campus cover-ups, you bought corrupt cops, and you taught your son that human lives have a price tag."
Tyler Whitmore, who had been summoned by his father in a panic, burst through the side doors just then, panting and frantic. "Dad! Dad, what's happening? The police are outside—they arrested Brandon Hale, and the Cole stocks are—who is this guy?!"
Tyler froze as he looked at me. Something in my posture, the terrifying stillness in my eyes, triggered a primal, instinctual panic in the boy's chest. He took a step back, trembling.
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"You're... you're the girl's father," Tyler whispered, horror dawning on him. "Daniel Walker... the quiet bookstore guy..."
"Daniel Walker died nineteen years ago," I said softly, stepping closer to the cowering heir. "Today, only the reckoning remains."
