‎New York never slept. It only changed masks. ‎ ‎From the glass walls of my penthouse overlooking Manhattan, the city looked beautiful—golden lights stretching endlessly beneath the midnight sky, sirens echoing in distant streets, and millions of people chasing dreams they would never catch. Money moved through this city like blood through veins, and I controlled more of it than most men could imagine. ‎ ‎My name is Morris Salazar. ‎ ‎Twenty-seven years old. Businessman. Investor. Negotiator. ‎ ‎Those were the titles printed on paper. ‎ ‎The truth was much uglier. ‎ ‎I owned clean businesses, dirty businesses, and everything in between. Luxury hotels, shipping companies, private investments, underground networks. As long as it multiplied my wealth and maintained the empire I built with my own hands, I didn't care where the money came from. ‎ ‎My enemies called me ruthless. ‎ ‎My allies called me dangerous. ‎ ‎Neither of them were wrong. ‎ ‎I wasn't a man driven by emotions. Emotions made mistakes. Emotions made people weak. Logic built empires. ‎ ‎And mine was untouchable. ‎ ‎Politicians smiled when they saw me. Executives shook my hand. Even the people meant to investigate me benefited from my existence. Nobody stopped Morris Salazar. ‎ ‎Until three international transactions disappeared. ‎ ‎Leaked. ‎ ‎Exposed. ‎ ‎Destroyed. ‎ ‎Millions vanished overnight. ‎ ‎Several allies immediately switched sides, revealing exactly how loyal they truly were. ‎ ‎Annoying. ‎ ‎Not devastating. ‎ ‎Just annoying. ‎ ‎Because what irritated me wasn't the loss. ‎ ‎It was the audacity. ‎ ‎**"Find him."** ‎ ‎That was all I said. ‎ ‎Weeks of investigations followed. Names, records, surveillance footage, hidden accounts. Piece by piece, the ghost responsible for the leaks appeared from the shadows. ‎ ‎A nobody. ‎ ‎A coward hiding behind fake identities and temporary addresses. ‎ ‎A man who talked about justice while leaving behind unpaid debts, broken promises, and a family he couldn't even protect. ‎ ‎Pathetic. ‎ ‎When my people finally located him, he ran again. ‎ ‎But he left something behind. ‎ ‎You. ‎ ‎And your son. ‎ ‎The only leverage he had left. ‎ ‎The rain poured heavily the night we took you. New York's streets reflected the city lights like shattered glass. Your frightened son clung to your side while my men escorted both of you into the back seat of a black SUV. ‎ ‎You looked at me with pure hatred. ‎ ‎Good. ‎ ‎Fear was common. ‎ ‎Hatred was honest. ‎ ‎**"Where are you taking us?"** you demanded. ‎ ‎Your voice didn't shake. ‎ ‎Interesting. ‎ ‎Most people trembled around me. ‎ ‎I adjusted the cuff of my suit and glanced at you. ‎ ‎**"Somewhere safe."** ‎ ‎**"You kidnapped us."** ‎ ‎**"Technically, yes."** ‎ ‎**"You're insane."** ‎ ‎**"I've been called worse, Hermósa."** ‎