Double the Reward

Cole couldn't pull himself together no matter how hard he tried.

Without even giving him a moment to process the bombshell that a yacht had suddenly appeared, the boss made a beeline straight for a Korean market.

There he swept up thick slabs of raw pork of unknown origin, a pile of greens, and an entire armful of some strange brown sauce.

Laden with heavy plastic bags in both hands, they arrived not at any ordinary dock, but at a private marina reserved exclusively for Manhattan's upper crust.

That alone was enough to make his head spin—yet the real shock was still waiting.

Moored right in front of them sat a jet-black sixty-foot carbon-fiber sports yacht.

No way. The yacht that just appeared out of nowhere is… that?

Even to Cole, a complete novice when it came to boats, it was screamingly obvious the thing cost an insane amount of money.

Moments later a dedicated manager in a crisp suit approached, bowed politely, and guided them aboard.

The instant Cole stepped onto the deck, his jaw dropped.

The exterior was already flashy, but the interior took it to another level entirely.

This wasn't a yacht. It was a five-star hotel suite floating on the water.

"Cole! Stick the meat in the fridge and let's go learn how to drive this thing."

At Donovan's completely casual tone, Cole found himself stowing the bags and standing in front of a state-of-the-art joystick docking system before he even realized what was happening.

It was genuinely disorienting.

No—he felt like his mind was about to short-circuit.

Ever since he'd started tagging along with this Asian boss, extraordinary things had been happening every single day, but he never once imagined he'd suddenly be handed the wheel of a multi-hundred-million-dollar yacht.

Wait. Was the owner's penthouse at the Astoria Hotel more shocking?

No. Looking at it from every angle, today took the crown.

So, half out of his mind, he learned the controls.

"Oh, the handling is extremely smooth. You're a quick study."

With the manager's praise ringing in his ears, Cole carefully nudged the joystick forward.

A deep, majestic engine roar answered, and the massive yacht glided out into the middle of the Hudson River as if on silk.

In that moment a silly little snicker slipped out between Cole's lips without his permission.

The person most startled by the sound was Cole himself.

Huh. I'm laughing.

Apparently he had already grown used to the parade of absurdities. The fact that he was enjoying this completely ridiculous situation without even noticing said everything.

Well… if it's natural, it's natural.

Time spent with this mysterious Asian boss was, without question, a hell of a lot of fun.

And then came the shipboard pork-belly barbecue.

On the deck of a multi-hundred-million-dollar yacht they simply spread out newspaper and plopped a portable burner right on top of it.

The manager standing nearby went pale and nearly had a heart attack wondering whether this could possibly be allowed, but Donovan just calmly grilled the meat like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And damn if it wasn't insanely delicious.

Nicely browned fatty pork, that mysterious salty brown sauce, and the spicy red green-onion salad—together they were pure art.

When Cole bit his lettuce wrap in half, Donovan brandished the tongs and barked,

"Hey! Why are you cutting the wrap? You shove the whole thing in your mouth and chew!"

As the mood loosened, Donovan mixed soju into a glass and held it out.

Cole shook his head on pure reflex.

"I'm on security duty, so I'll pass on the alcohol."

"We're sleeping right here tonight. I'm not telling you to get wasted—just enough to feel good."

He'd refused, but his mouth was already greasy. Cole accepted the glass with a show of reluctance and drank.

"Kheuu!"

The river breeze and the rising buzz felt fantastic.

Maybe that was why a question he would never have asked sober came riding the alcohol straight out of his mouth.

"Um… Mr. Donovan. How am I looking?"

The question he had always wanted to ask the man who saw through everything, yet never quite dared.

Donovan burst out laughing.

"Why so serious all of a sudden?"

Still holding a can of beer, he studied Cole's face for a long moment, then spoke in a calm, almost offhand tone.

"Life won't be smooth, but there will always be people beside you. Thanks to good people, you'll live pretty decently."

It was exactly right. At the moment he thought he was going to die like trash on the street, he had met the boss.

And now, because of the man sitting across from him, he was living a life of luxury he had never even dreamed of.

Just as the warm feeling was settling in, Donovan suddenly waved both hands in a panic.

"Wait—hold on! That makes it sound like I'm bragging. I'm not saying things got better because you met me. I'm saying that's literally written on your face. I'm not that kind of guy."

At the flustered excuse, Cole finally laughed out loud.

"Yes. I know, Mr. Donovan."

"Anyway, if I ever see something serious, I'll tell you first thing, so don't worry. If I just stay quiet and don't say anything special, that means you're good."

Cole nodded with a faint smile.

"Now that you mention it, that makes sense."

"Toast."

Donovan held out his glass. Cole grinned and clinked his own against it.

Clink—

The bright sound scattered pleasantly across the Hudson. The best side dish of all was the glittering Manhattan skyline spread out before them.

It really had been an unbelievably surprising, unbelievably good day.

While Donovan was soaking in perfect healing on the yacht, a completely opposite war—fierce and airless—was raging in one corner of New York.

Midtown South Precinct, Interrogation Room One.

The veteran team leader serving as acting precinct captain clenched his fist so hard it trembled, barely holding back the rage that made his blood reverse direction.

"So. You are fully denying the charges of administering drugs to the victim Chloe Wallace and attempting to restrain her with cable ties?"

"Captain. Your choice of words is rather harsh."

The young man sitting with one leg crossed over the other—Julian Boyd—didn't bother answering. Instead the man in the suit standing like a screen behind him stepped forward.

He was a senior partner from one of New York's most expensive law firms.

"My client and the victim met on the Tinder app and enjoyed a consensual date. The cable ties recovered from the vehicle were simply props for their private role-play."

The lawyer continued in an easy, almost bored tone.

"The victim collapsing from the drugs was an unfortunate accident. A powerful sleep aid my client regularly takes accidentally mixed into a champagne glass."

"Accident? Role-play? Cut the fucking bullshit! When we kicked the door in, that bastard was staring at her like she was meat!"

"Can you prove it? Direct evidence of attempted murder or kidnapping intent, please."

The acting captain slammed the desk, but the iron wall of the multi-lawyer defense team didn't so much as flinch.

That was their real shield.

Thanks to Donovan's tip they had rescued the victim seconds before the worst could happen.

Ironically, because they had arrived before any murder or serious injury occurred, the bastards were packaging everything as pure accident and misunderstanding.

"Fine. Let's set this case aside for a second. Then how do you explain the three other women who recently went missing?"

The acting captain flung the missing-person photos onto the table ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with bloodshot eyes.

"Every single roommate says the same damn thing! On the day they disappeared they went on a date with a guy whose profile used your photo on that app!"

Julian barely glanced at the pictures, then stifled a yawn and started picking at a fingernail as if the whole conversation bored him. The lawyer simply slid a single sheet of paper across the table.

"Captain. My client is the heir to Connect Holdings. On dating apps, fake accounts that steal photos of rich second-generation heirs to run scams pop up by the dozens every single day."

He smiled pleasantly and kept going.

"Here—official server logs formally issued by the app's headquarters. The access IPs of those stolen accounts the roommates saw have not a single line of connection to my client. Someone stole my client's face and committed the crimes."

The acting captain's face went rigid.

This was the real reason the bastard had been able to commit serial murders without ever getting his tail stepped on.

The company that owned the Tinder app—Connect Holdings—belonged to Julian Boyd's father.

"…Of course there are no logs. This bastard's father owns the goddamn app! He had company insiders wipe the server records in real time!"

"Captain. Watch your language. That is clear defamation."

The lawyer pushed his glasses up with a cold click.

"Do you have evidence that my client ordered employees to manipulate the servers? Or have you even found the corpses of those women?"

"You sons of bitches…!"

The acting captain's words died in his throat.

No matter how certain his gut was, digital records perfectly laundered by capital and power made intuition worthless.

A body dump site. Or the internal accomplice who erased the logs.

Just one more piece and he could cut this arrogant bastard's throat for good—yet there was nothing.

Julian, who had stayed silent the entire time, finally lifted one corner of his mouth in a lazy, mocking smile and spoke for the first time.

"Captain. Tomorrow morning I go before the judge and walk out on bail, right? You're working hard—go get ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠some rest. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Stop trying to frame innocent people."

The crushing powerlessness of having a serial killer sitting three feet away and being able to do absolutely nothing.

Leaving Julian's taunting smile behind, the acting captain stepped out of the interrogation room and scrubbed his face hard with both hands, eyes still bloodshot.

"This fucking…"

Raiding right before the crime to stop the worst had backfired completely.

Because no clear murder or kidnapping had yet occurred, there simply wasn't enough direct evidence to legally destroy the shameless claims of "private role-play" and "simple drug accident."

The only charges they could actually file right now were shrinking to simple unlawful restraint or minor drug offenses.

Without a corpse or something equally fatal, an American court would grant bail one hundred percent of the time on the grounds of no flight risk.

Even if a judge got pissed and slapped on an astronomical bail of hundreds of millions, what difference would it make?

To the heir of a giant IT conglomerate, that kind of money was pocket change he could write a check for tomorrow morning and stroll out whistling.

His insides burned black.

The bastard was clearly not working alone. Someone inside the company was covering for him and scrubbing the servers.

But all he had was suspicion. He had no idea who to lean on or how.

And that news reached two very powerful men intact.

The next morning.

Manhattan, Hudson River VVIP private marina.

On the sun-drenched deck of the sixty-foot top-tier sports yacht, Donovan lounged on a sunbed, leisurely sipping morning coffee.

Vrrr— vrrr—.

The old flip phone on the table vibrated.

Caller: the Boss.

Five million dollars.

Roughly seven billion won.

That changed the conversation.

"…Explain."

The Boss laid out the situation in rapid fire.

After hearing everything, Donovan let out a disbelieving snort of laughter.

"Wow. Catching him too fast was the problem? Unbelievable. So who the hell put in this commission?"

Donovan read the board in a single glance.

This wasn't simple justice.

This was corporate warfare.

If that fact could be proven, the entire giant known as Connect Holdings would shake to its foundations.

Stock price halved. Board in freefall.

From the competitor's perspective, five million dollars was the highest-ROI investment imaginable—enough to cut the throat of a multi-hundred-billion-dollar enemy.

Donovan was just about to answer with a grin when a heavy, massive Maybach slid silently into the marina entrance.

It was Arthur Wallace's car—the same man who had casually tossed him this multi-hundred-million-dollar yacht yesterday. Donovan glanced at the figure striding purposefully toward him and spoke into the phone.

"Got it. Tell them I accept."

Click.

He hung up and turned his gaze to Arthur Wallace climbing onto the deck.

Yesterday's gentle father pushing his daughter in a wheelchair at the fortune-teller's shop was gone without a trace.

His eyes burned with pure rage.

"What brings you here first thing in the morning?"

Arthur faced him squarely and spoke in a heavy voice.

"I have a request."

"A request?"

"That animal who put his hands on my daughter yesterday."

Arthur's thick fist trembled.

"Even though he was caught red-handed, that father of his has mobilized the most expensive law firm in the city and is slipping right through the investigation net. They even wiped the company's digital server records clean, so there's no decisive evidence for attempted murder right now."

Arthur's eyes flashed with killing intent.

"At this rate he'll walk free on bail tomorrow morning and stroll the streets like nothing happened."

"And?"

"I want that bastard—and the father protecting him—locked in a cage. With that miracle ability of yours… find me the perfect evidence that will cut their throats."

Arthur Wallace declared it without a single second of hesitation.

"If you avenge my daughter, I will give you anything. Whatever you want."

Donovan scratched his chin.

The timing was almost comical.

In the shadows a competitor had put up a five-million-dollar bounty. In the light, the East Coast's biggest yacht tycoon was offering a blank check.

One ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠target. Enormous rewards raining down from both sides.

And that resolute expression on Arthur Wallace's face was seriously whetting Donovan's appetite.

After a multi-hundred-million-dollar yacht… I'm honestly a little curious what comes next.

Donovan looked at him and opened his mouth.

"I'll do it."