Chapter 2
Ethan
I glanced at the Manhattan skyline through my office windows, the city lights twinkling against the dark spring night.
The financial reports scattered across my desk showed promising returns, but something about Viktor Group's recent transactions bothered me. Their numbers were too clean, too perfect.
I frowned at the data, an uneasy feeling gnawing at me, sensing a hidden truth buried beneath the flawless figures.
The vibration from my secured drawer interrupted my analysis. I checked the empty hallway through the glass walls before retrieving my FBI communication device. Director Wilson's face appeared on screen, his expression grave as always.
"Black, we've got developments on the Viktor money laundering case," he said without preamble. "Elizabeth Thompson's daughter might be involved or at least knowledgeable about her mother's activities."
I maintained my neutral expression. "Send me the file."
My device pinged seconds later. A woman with golden-brown hair and striking green eyes filled my screen—Amelia Thompson, 23, gynecologist at New York Central Hospital. I quickly scanned her background: top of her class at Columbia Medical, respected by colleagues, no criminal record. Her mother had worked as an accountant at Viktor Group before her suspicious death ten years ago.
"Her mother likely discovered evidence of money laundering before she died," Wilson continued. "Your mission is to determine whether the daughter was involved. If she's innocent, she might lead us to evidence her mother left behind."
"I'll find a way to approach the target," I replied, already calculating potential strategies.
"Remember, this case has dragged on for years. Viktor's laundering operation is sophisticated. We need a breakthrough."
"Understood. I'll report any progress."
I disconnected and leaned back in my chair, studying Amelia's photograph more carefully. Something about her eyes seemed too innocent for someone involved in money laundering. But appearances were deceiving—I'd learned that lesson repeatedly in my five years as an undercover agent.
The sudden opening of my office door startled me. I quickly locked my screen as my grandfather George Black entered with his characteristic authoritative stride. Midnight visits from him were unprecedented.
"Working late again?" he asked, lowering himself into the chair across from me.
"Just wrapping up," I replied cautiously. "What brings you here at this hour?"
He fixed me with the penetrating gaze that had intimidated Wall Street executives for decades. "Ethan, I need you to complete a marriage registration tomorrow."
I nearly choked. "Excuse me?"
"It's a family promise I made to an old friend. His granddaughter needs assistance with a legal matter." He straightened his already impeccable tie. "If you agree, 30% of the group's voting rights will be yours."
I stared at him, trying to determine if this was some elaborate test. "You want me to marry a stranger? That's absurd. I'm handling critical projects—I don't have time for this."
"The situation is delicate," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "They need a contractual marriage to resolve certain legal issues."
"I don't even know who this person is," I protested. "Find someone else."
My grandfather stood, disappointment evident in his posture. "I thought you'd understand the meaning of family responsibility." He walked to the door, then added, "William helped me a lot before."
After he left, I paced my office, baffled by his request. My grandfather had always been strategic, calculating—this sudden sentimental request made no sense.
At 2 AM, I met Michael, my assistant, at our secure FBI office.
"We need a natural way to get close to Thompson without raising suspicions," I said, reviewing her file again.
Michael scrolled through additional information. "Interesting—she's facing an inheritance battle with a court hearing tomorrow. According to the will, if she's unmarried, her mother's estate will be managed by her father."
"So she needs a husband," I muttered, a strange feeling forming in my gut.
"We monitored her father's communications and discovered that he was contacting multiple marriage agencies, requesting them to reject Amelia's requests."
"Pull up William Thompson's file," I ordered suddenly.
The screen displayed: William Thompson, 82, former business owner, currently hospitalized in critical condition. Notable relationships: Long-time friend of George Black.
"Unbelievable..." I immediately called my grandfather. "The person who needs this contractual marriage... is Amelia Thompson?"
"William's granddaughter does need help," he confirmed. "Have you reconsidered?"
"I need more details," I replied cautiously, signaling Michael with my eyes.
After hanging up, I leaned against the desk. "This can't be coincidence."
"It's like the universe handed you a perfect cover," Michael said. "You can fulfill both your FBI mission and your grandfather's request simultaneously."
"Prepare a strict marriage contract that automatically terminates after three months," I decided. "That gives me enough time to investigate her connection to Viktor Group."
"You think she's involved?" Michael asked.
I studied her photograph again. "Everyone's involved until proven innocent."
At dawn, I directed Michael to prepare the documents from my penthouse. "Make the terms strict. I need to monitor her under the same roof while maintaining distance."
"She has her inheritance hearing at 2 PM. We must complete the marriage registration before that," I said, studying her schedule.
I drafted the text myself: [Miss Thompson, I hear you need a marriage to secure your mother's inheritance. City Hall, 10 AM this morning. —Ethan Black]
"Clear enough to show it's a real offer," I explained.
When reporting to my FBI supervisor, I was warned: "Don't get emotionally involved. Remember her possible connection to the laundering operation."
"This is just a transaction," I replied coldly. "Three months, then it's over."
On my way to City Hall, I received an agent's report: "Target has left the hospital and is heading to City Hall."
My grandfather sent a brief message: [Treat her well. William cherishes her like his own life.]
I adjusted the cuffs of my suit as my driver pulled up to City Hall.
If Amelia Thompson was innocent, this marriage would be a brief inconvenience. If she was guilty—as I suspected—this would be her downfall.
Either way, I was getting closer to the truth about Viktor Group, and that was all that mattered.