CHAPTER 99: MILES STERLING, YOU ARE COMING WITH US

Morning- The Pearl Villa

Elena watches him with a small, careful smile, the warmth of the kitchen settling into the room like sunlight. Steam curls from the vegetable pot, carrying the soft, honest aroma of home cooking. Somewhere in the back of Miles mind the city still hums — enemy, deals, shadows, — but at this table everything feels ordinary and unbearably precious.

"Is everything alright? You are quiet today," Elena asks, setting a bowl on Miles plate.

Miles lets the smile come easily. It is a smile that reaches his eyes and softens the hard planes for a moment. "Everything is fine, Mom. Just thinking."

Daniel, buttering up his bread slice but always listening, nudges him. "You know you can tell us anything."

"Thanks, Father. It’s truly nothing," Miles replies, his voice filled with gratitude. "How are your days going?"

Daniel shrugs, the kind of shrug that hides more worry than it shows. "Nothing special. You won’t let us go back to the office. The twins are at school nowadays, and the villa has turned into a very expensive, very quiet museum."

Elena laughs against her spoon. "We do miss the bustle. A house this big makes too much room for memories."

The idea arrives like a small, bright spark. Miles watches his mother arrange the plates and thinks of the way her hands move, the pride she hides in small things. He reaches across the table.

"Mom, how about opening that restaurant you always talked about? The one you’ve dreamed of."

Her eyes lift, surprised. The way sunlight catches the moisture at the corners of them reveals how much the thought means. "I have thought about it," she admits. "But I never knew if I could manage. I am not young like I used to be."

"You don’t have to do it alone," Miles says. The words are easy, but heavy with promise. "Let Father help with the day to day, and I will take care of the management side. We will find a place, set a menu, hire good people. You cook with them. We’ll make the rest run."

Daniel leans forward, enthusiasm cracking through his usual restraint. "That’s better than sitting at home. You should do it, Elena. We’ll all pitch in."

There is a pause while Elena considers — the kind of pause that holds a lifetime of small, unsaid hopes. Then she sets the spoon down and nods slowly. "Okay. We will do it then."

Relief floods Miles in a quiet, physical way. He lets out a breath and a smile breaks completely across his face. "That’s good news. I’ll look for a nice place. Something cozy, with a kitchen of your liking."

Asher, who has been polishing his spoon like it is a sword, speaks with a mouth full of breakfast. "Mom, let me help too. I can be a waiter and carry plates."

Hope bounces in her chair, eyes wide as saucers. "Me too. I will hand out napkins and crayons."

Elena reaches across and tousles their hair. "Thank you, my little helpers. We will make it a family thing."

Breakfast winds down under the ordinary music of clinking cutlery and low talk. Laughter slides easily between them. Miles watches the twins exchange excited plans and feels something like peace settle over his shoulders. For now, for this morning, the world is small and full of possibility.

"Come on, little soldiers," Miles says as he stands, ruffling both of their heads. "Let me drop you at school."

Hope springs up, a comet of activity. "Wait, big bro, let me tie my shoelaces."

Asher fumbles with his laces, eyes exaggeratedly earnest. The little scene is perfect in its simplicity. Miles kneels, steady hands working on knots.

Miles eased the car away from the school curb, watching the twins run through the gate with backpacks bouncing like little drums. A wave through the fence, two bright smiles, and the morning folded back into motion. He turned the wheel toward Cinder Square, the city glass sharpening in the sun.

The elevator whispered him up. His office door sealed the noise out. He had just sunk into the chair when the phone buzzed across the desk.

"Boss, the old master is making big moves," Monica said, voice steady and low. "It is clear he is in Star Harbor because of you."

"I thought as much," Miles replied, his gaze drawn to the skyline. "His animosity towards my family is immense."

"In the last twenty-four hours their men dug up the city to find your places," Monica continued. "They are around your offices, they have eyes on everything. He is waiting to make a move anytime soon. Be careful."

A corner of Miles mouth lifted. "He should be careful instead. Let him move. If he faces me, he will always be at a disadvantage. He knows I am Edward Sterling’s son, but he does not know I am the Ghost of the Graveyard."

"You sound completely carefree," Monica said, half exasperated, half impressed. "Anyway, we will keep watching."

"What about Air Telecom’s expansion?"

"We are working on it. We are slowly renting out network towers around the world."

"Good. Let me know the second he twitches."

"Okay, boss."

The call snapped off. The office settled back into that quiet weight before a storm.

A soft knock. June stepped in, tablet in hand. "You called me, sir."

"June, I want the outdoor security camera feeds here," Miles said. "Also the feeds from the Pearl Villa, and the school."

"Okay, boss. Let me configure it for you."

"Thanks, June."

She studied him for a breath. "Are you alright, boss?"

"Nothing. I just need a coffee."

"I will call someone. And here is what you need."

The wall screens woke in a flood of light, a war room blooming from silence. Tiles stacked on tiles. Corporate lobby. Street angles. Parking ramp. Villa perimeter washed in maple shadows. A school corridor with tiny shoes lined like bright shells. Playgrounds. Crosswalks. Street corners. Faces that did not belong, hiding in plain sight.

"Whoa," Miles said, leaning in. "How did you get the school feed?"

"Miss Monica already shared them," June said with a small smile. "Do not worry. Everyone is safe."

"I will send your coffee. Take care."

She left. The door sighed shut.

Miles watched. He did not blink much. On one screen a man pretended to read a newspaper he never turned. On another, a pair in delivery uniforms stood too long at a corner that did not have any deliveries. A sedan parked with the engine off, driver staring at nothing, pulse visible in the throat. A black cap, a mirrored lens, a hand to an earpiece. He marked them all in his head, clicking mental pins into a private map.

"So they are waiting," he murmured, fingers drumming once on the desk.

"Let them wait in the sunlight for a while," Miles said to the screens, voice calm as a blade in its sheath. "I hope their wait will be worthwhile."

Somewhere in the country - ACE group Headquators

Marble floors gleamed like still water beneath a canopy of glass and steel. The revolving doors sighed shut behind her, and the lobby bowed—uniformed receptionists, security in tailored suits, assistants clutching tablets mid-stride. A man with silver at his temples stepped forward with a bouquet the color of sunrise.

"Welcome back, young miss," he said, voice warm but formal. "Congratulations on your graduation from Stanford."

"Thank you, Uncle Ben." Her smile was quick, assessing. "You look different. Time catching up?"

Ben chuckled. "Time catches everyone. I never expected someone from the family would actually join the office."

"I had to fight Grandfather," she said, breezing past the turnstiles as guards dipped their heads. "He would not let me. He finally agreed on one condition—until I get married. So I am on a timer."

"Then let us make every minute count." Ben gestured to the private elevator. "Come. Your office."

Silvey Sterling—twenty-something, sharp suit in muted sand, hair pinned with a single pearl—walked the corridor as if she had been born in it. People straightened without thinking. Doors that were always closed slid open an inch. She did not slow.

They reached a corner suite at the end of a hushed hallway. Ben pushed the door, and a sweep of space unfolded.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped three sides of the room, the city stacked at her feet like a chessboard. A long, pale oak desk faced the view, edges beveled, cables invisibly managed. A soft gray rug anchored two low sofas around a black stone coffee table veined like ink in water. Built-ins along the inner wall held a curated storm of power—deal binders, framed patents, a glass case with an early ACE ledger, a vintage ticker clicking quietly like a heart. A single living maple in a matte planter lifted green against the glass, its leaves catching light.

Subtle tech hummed beneath the elegance—smart glass controls on the desk, a recessed screen that could bloom across an entire wall, privacy acoustic panels disguised as art. In the far corner, a small bar with tea service, a still espresso machine, crystal set ready.

Silvey stepped in, walked a slow semicircle, fingers trailing the back of the sofa. "Uncle Ben," she said, turning, eyes bright. "Thank you for such a warm welcome."

"Young miss has grown up," Ben said, pride softening the lines of his face. "Welcome to your office."

"I want to ask you something." She leaned a hip against the desk, gaze steady.

Ben lifted his brows. "Yes, young miss?"

"This week I was watching the news and heard about... Sterling Enterprises." She tasted the name, unfamiliar yet not. "Do we have anything like that? I thought we only use the name ACE."

Ben’s smile thinned. A quiet closed over the room—the kind that precedes honest things. "Young miss, that... something is being discussed by the family right now."

She folded her arms. "Discussed how?"

He exhaled, choosing his words. "Sterling Enterprises is related to the abandoned branch of the family."

Silvey went very still. "Abandoned?" Her voice was soft, incredulous. "There are more people in the family?"

Back to Star Harbor

The day slid by in the office like a tide, meetings ebbing, signatures flowing, the city humming beneath glass. Evening draped the skyline in neon and chrome. Miles took the wheel, slipped into traffic, a dark coupe gliding through ribbons of light.

He caught the shadow in the mirror before it became a shape. A sedan three cars back, steady, patient. He smiled. Here you come.

He drove as if nothing mattered, turn signal polite, speed exact, letting the city breathe around him. At the next square a second car bled from a side street and tucked in behind the first. Headlights held him in a quiet bracket. No sirens. No hurry. Predators with full bellies.

The high-rises fell away. Sodium lights thinned. Asphalt unspooled toward the black ribs of the outskirts. Wind pressed along the windows, carrying the far smell of sea and dust. The third car slid ahead of him, easing into his lane, a quiet door closing.

Miles rolled his shoulders once, fingers light on the wheel. He eased off the accelerator. Gravel whispered under the tires as the road widened to a service pullout, a forgotten patch of cracked concrete beside a chain-link fence and a dark field.

All three cars stopped.

Doors opened. Shapes unfolded. Boots thudded. Muzzles blinked in the half light, a small constellation of matte steel. Breath smoked in the cool air. Someone flicked a safety. Someone else swallowed.

Miles stepped out, unhurried, suit uncreased, the night sliding over him like oil over glass. The wind shifted. In the hush, a cricket counted down.

A man in a leather jacket stepped forward, chin lifted, eyes eager for the moment a story becomes a memory. His voice tried to be iron and landed as gravel.

"Miles Sterling, you are coming with us."