The next morning, Nate Bell woke to the sound of a violin concerto echoing through the Delacroix Opera House.
Which was strange, because he hadn't hired anyone.
He threw on jeans and followed the music, barefoot, down the grand staircase. The sound led him to the main hall where, under the pale light filtering through stained glass, a girl no older than fourteen played a haunting melody from the stage.
She wore a hoodie two sizes too big and had the kind of posture that screamed "self-taught and unstoppable."
She didn't acknowledge Nate, just played until the last note dissolved into dust.
Then she said, "You're the new owner?"
Nate blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Are you… a ghost?"
She laughed. "No. I'm Lani. I snuck in. This place has perfect acoustics. You gonna call the cops?"
He considered. Then shook his head. "No. Keep playing whenever you want. But… maybe let me know first so I don't think I'm being haunted."
She grinned and vanished into the shadows like a ninja.
Nate stood there for a moment, smiling — then remembered the real reason he was awake.
The burner phone.
---
Back in his office, Nate fired up the encrypted device. A new briefing had arrived, loaded with maps, photos, and a dossier titled: THE RIVERSIDE PROJECT — CORRUPTION WATCHLIST.
He skimmed the summary:
> "The Riverside Development Project is a $900M eco-reclamation initiative set to rebuild New Orleans' east waterfront. It's backed by state funding and two environmental NGOs. Recently, the zoning committee has been blocking approval on key permits — without explanation.
Intel suggests at least one committee member has been compromised via toxic incentives (blackmail, bribes, threats).
Objective: Infiltrate tonight's zoning gala at the Orpheum Club. Identify the mole. Extract leverage. Restore voting integrity.
Dress code: Formal. Bring a date. Or fake one."
Nate sighed. "Of course it's a black-tie spy mission. Because why wouldn't I jump straight from jazz gigs to James Bond?"
---
Six hours later, Nate stood in front of a mirror inside a boutique tailor shop, buttoning a midnight-blue tuxedo tailored to his lean frame.
"Sir," the tailor said with a slight Parisian accent, "Mr. LaRoux left instructions for occasions like this. Would you like the cufflinks or the special cufflinks?"
Nate raised an eyebrow. "Special?"
The tailor produced a velvet box. Inside were silver cufflinks — elegant, unassuming — except when pressed, they displayed a rotating holographic readout of nearby surveillance devices.
Nate blinked. "Okay. Now that's just cool."
---
By 8:30 p.m., he was stepping out of a town car in front of the Orpheum Club, a private venue reserved for New Orleans' most elite political players. Think cigar smoke, jazz quartets, champagne flutes, and at least three ongoing bribery schemes at any given moment.
He was not alone.
On his arm was Nova, the "fake date" provided by LaRoux's legal trust.
She wore a slit-back emerald dress and moved with the smooth efficiency of someone trained in four kinds of martial arts and three types of diplomacy.
"You don't talk much," Nate said as they entered the ballroom.
"I'm not here to talk," she replied. "I'm here to keep you alive."
A waiter passed by with champagne. Nate grabbed two flutes.
Nova took one and added, "Left-hand waiter's wearing a wire. The guy near the shrimp tower has a Glock. And someone already scanned your face at the door."
Nate blinked. "Okay, definitely not a normal zoning committee gala."
---
The event looked like any other high-society fundraiser. White marble pillars. A jazz quartet playing soft Ellington. Politicians glad-handing like their lives depended on it.
The zoning committee sat at a VIP table near the stage. Seven members in all.
Nate's eyes scanned the group, guided by the burner phone's silent alerts.
> Scanning committee faces…
MATCH FOUND: Dr. Clifton Marrs
Vote history anomaly detected. Financial irregularities noted. Sudden net worth jump: +$1.7M last quarter.
Nate whispered to Nova, "Guy in the bowtie. Marrs. He's our leaky pipe."
She nodded. "I'll intercept his assistant. You chat him up."
"Great," Nate muttered. "Time to schmooze the snake."
---
Dr. Marrs was an older man with slicked-back white hair, a highball in hand, and a voice like damp velvet.
"I don't believe we've met," he said as Nate approached.
"Nate Bell. Philanthropy wing. I bought the Delacroix."
That caught Marrs' attention. "You? Didn't peg you for a cultural savior."
"I'm full of surprises."
Marrs chuckled. "Well, good to meet another lover of… urban transformation. But I must say, the Riverside Project is a pipe dream."
Nate sipped his drink. "You've blocked it five times, right?"
Marrs narrowed his eyes. "It's a flawed vision. And besides, there are… better options."
"Or maybe you just don't like clean water unless it's pouring into your Cayman account?"
The old man's smile froze.
"You should be careful, Mr. Bell," he said quietly. "Accusations have consequences."
Nate smiled back. "So do bribes."
He turned and walked away before the man could reply.
---
In the hallway, Nova was interrogating Marrs' assistant, a jittery intern with fear in his eyes and a phone full of encrypted messages.
"Encrypted Telegram threads, offshore wire instructions, and a dinner receipt for Marrs with someone named DuChamp," she said.
Nate's jaw tightened. "Louie again. Of course."
He opened the burner phone. New option unlocked.
> EXPOSURE STRATEGY:
Leak encrypted records to city ethics board
Trigger automatic corruption review
Auto-flag votes as invalid
Proceed?
Nate hit YES.
The phone buzzed.
> Zoning block invalidated. Riverside Project unlocked.
Your leverage has increased.
Net worth: $38.4M
Influence Index: 3.7%
Nate grinned. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you reroute a city."
---
Later that night, back at the opera house, Nova debriefed as she inspected the perimeter.
"You made two enemies tonight. Marrs, who'll probably be indicted. And Louie, who now knows you're moving in on his turf."
"He already hated me," Nate replied. "What's one more reason?"
Nova nodded toward the stage. "You're not just inheriting wealth. You're inheriting war. LaRoux kept this city balanced through diplomacy, debt, and dirt. You've upset that."
"So what now?"
She handed him a file.
> Next Objective: 1220 Toulouse Street. Abandoned courthouse.
Rumors of rogue AI testing, linked to rogue contractor units in Panama and Shanghai.
Objective: Confirm presence. Shut down. Or repurpose.
Nate looked up. "Wait. Now we're dealing with AI?"
Nova shrugged. "LaRoux didn't just control wealth. He controlled knowledge."
Nate sat back in his chair, staring at the file.
Opera houses. Syndicates. Poisoned committees.
And now… rogue artificial intelligence?
What the hell had he signed up for?
But beneath the fear was something new.
Excitement.
Purpose.
And maybe — just maybe — revenge.
---