Special Agent Diana Chen ducked under the yellow tape surrounding what remained of Substation 12. The smell of burnt metal and melted stic filled her nose. Five days after the explosion, the site still smol Chen pointed to a corner where three techs huddled around something. "They found pieces of the detonator. Military grade, just like at Substation 8."


    "So we''re looking at the same person for both bombings, Morgan said, scribbling in his


    notebook.


    "It gets better." Chen led him toward a table where collected evidence sat in clear stic bags. She picked up one containing a twisted piece of metal. "Look at this."


    Morgan squinted at the bag. "Is that a business card?"


    “What''s left of one." Chen nodded. “Fire damaged it, but ourb confirmed part of a name. ''TON.'' And look at theer,that s a corporate logo."


    Morgan took the bag, studying it closely. "Preston Enterprises."


    "As in Herod


    Preston," Chen said, her voice rising with excitement. "The FBI database has his fingerprints from when he applied for an international business license. They found a match on pieces of wire from both explosion sites." Morgan


    let out a low whistle. "So we''ve got him at both scenes. We''ve got his business card. Motive?"


    "That''s where it gets interesting." Chen pulled out her tablet, bringing up a file. "Preston''s family had a shipping empire that copsed about ten years ago after some kind of conflict with Victoria Kane. His father "Revenge against Kane Industries," Morgan mused.


    "But why now? Why wait ten years?"


    "The Phoenix Grid is Victoria Kane''s biggest project in a decade," Chen said. "Maximum damage to her legacy."


    "We need everything on this guy," Morgan said, his eyes hardening. "Get a warrant for his apartment and office. I want to know what else he''s nning."


    Three hourster, the FBI tactical team broke down the door of Herod Preston''s penthouse apartment. Morgan and Chen followed them in, weapons drawn.


    "Clear!" called the team leader after checking each room. "No one''s home."


    Morgan holstered his weapon, looking around the luxurious space. Floor-to-


    ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city. Expensive furniture, original artwork on the walls, a bar


    stocked with top-shelf liquor.


    "He lives well," Chen remarked, pulling ontex gloves.


    "Lived well," Morgan corrected. "After this, his life is over."


    The evidence response team moved


    through the apartment, dusting for fingerprints, photographing everything, searching for evidence.


    "Agent Morgan!" called one of the techs from the bedroom. "You need to see this."


    Morgan and Chen hurried into the master bedroom. On the bedy architectural blueprints of the Phoenix Grid substations. Red marks highlighted vulnerable points, the exact locations where the bombs had be "Holy mother of...." Chen whispered. "It''s like he wasn''t even trying to hide it."


    Morgan flipped through the notebook. Page after page of detailed


    ns, all in the same handwriting. "Check these for prints," he ordered a nearby tech.


    Near the blueprintsy a map of the entire Grid system, with one location circled multiple times in red: the main


    control


    center.


    "He''s nning another attack," Morgan said, his voice tight. "Get me everything on the security measures at the main control center. Now."


    Sessfully unlocked!


    Another agent approached holding a tablet. "Sir, we in this in the salt.


    On the screen were pages of text, emails between Preston and someone identified only as "H.P." discussing the bombings. Messages sent from Preston to himself, documenting his ns, his hatred for Victoria Kane, his determination to destroy everything she had built.


    "It''s a journal," Chen said, scrolling through the entries. "He documented everything."


    Morgan shook his head, amazed at the man''s arrogance. "He thought he was untouchable."


    As the team continued searching, more evidence mounted. Financial records showing Preston had withdrawnrge sums of cash in the weeks before each bombing. Receipts forponents that matched thos


    "It''s overwhelming," Chen said as they stood in the living room, surveying the collected evidence. "I''ve never seen a case this clear-


    cut."


    "He''s not just a bomber," Morgan said grimly. "He''s a would-


    be mass murderer." He pointed


    to a page of the notebook a tech had just bagged. "Look at his calctions for casualties if he hits the main control center during working hours."


    Chen looked sick as she read the numbers. "He''s estimating at least fifty dead."


    "Issue an APB immediately," Morgan ordered. "All airports, train stations, bus terminals. I want Preston''s face everywhere. Consider him armed and extremely dangerous."


    "What about his associates?" Chen asked. "Anyone who might be helping him?"


    Morgan considered this. "Check his phone records, emails, social media. But from what we''re seeing, this looks like a one-


    man vendetta. A rich guy with resources, technical knowledge, and a decade-


    old grudge."


    "The worst kind of enemy," Chen murmured.


    As the team packed up the evidence, Morgan stood at the window, looking out at the city, at the millions of people who would be affected if the main control center was destroyed. Somewhere out there, Herod F


    next move.


    "We''re not just trying to solve


    two bombings anymore," Morgan said quietly. "We''re trying to prevent a massacre."


    ***


    Back at FBI headquarters, Morgan stood before a wall covered in


    photos, documents, and timelines. At the center was a picture of Herod Preston, tall, handsome, with


    cold eyes that seemed to challenge anyone looking at him.


    "Financial analysis came in," Chen said, entering with a stack of


    reports. "Preston was on the verge of bankruptcy three months ago. Hispany was failing, his


    investments tanking. Then suddenly, he pays off all his debts, starts spending like crazy."


    "Source of the money?" Morgan asked, not looking away from Preston''s photo.


    "That''s the thing," Chen said. "We can''t find it. He emptied several offshore ounts, but we don''t know where those funds came from originally."


    "So he was preparing," Morgan mused. "Getting his finances in order beforeunching his attacks."


    A junior agent entered, holding a report. "Sir, ballistics confirmed the explosives used in both substations


    were military grade, avable only through ck market channels."


    "Preston has shipping connections all over the world," Chen noted. "He could have brought them in through any number of ports."


    Morgan nodded, pieces falling into ce. "What about his personal life? Any rtionships we should


    know about?"


    "He''s been seen at several events with Rose Lewis, 28, the adopted sister of Camille Kane," Chen said, checking her notes. But there''s nothing to suggest she knows anything about the bombings. She was at The za Hotel during both attacks, confirmed by multiple witnesses and security footage."


    "Just a coincidence, then," Morgan said, dismissing it. "Focus on Preston. I want to know where he is, who he''s contacted, what he''s nning next."


    His phone rang, theb with preliminary results on the notebook found in Preston''s apartment.


    "Morgan," he answered, putting the call on speaker.


    "Sir, we''ve confirmed all the handwriting in the notebook belongs to


    Preston, came the voice on the other end. " Fingerprints match too. And we found traces of the same explosivepounds used in the bombings on several pages." "Anything else?"


    "Yes, sir. We analyzed the map with the control center circled. Based on the pen impressions, we


    believe he was nning to attack tomorrow night, around 9 PM."


    Morgan and Chen exchanged rmed looks.


    "That''s when


    the Grid is scheduled to reach full operational capacity," Chen said, checking her tablet. "Maximum impact."


    "Get me Kane Industries security on the phone," Morgan ordered. "And I want a tactical team ready to move to the control center immediately."


    As agents rushed to carry out his orders, Morgan stared at Preston''s


    photo on the evidence wall,


    "What drives a man to this?" he wondered aloud. "The bombings weren''t just about damage, they were about sending a message. Making Kane suffer."


    "Revenge is powerful," Chen said quietly. "Especially when it''s been brewing for a decade."


    Morgan nodded slowly. "But revenge this calcted, this patient... it''s almost admirable in a twisted way. He waited for the perfect moment, the perfect target."


    "And now he''s disappeared," Chen added. "With enough explosives to take down the main control center."


    "He won''t seed," Morgan said firmly. "We know his target. We know his timeline. For the first time, we''re ahead of him."


    A junior agent approached with a tablet. "Sir, we found something else in Preston''s files. ns for after the attack. A private ne waiting at a small airfield in New Jersey, scheduled for tomorrow night. Destinat "No extradition," Chen noted.


    "He wasn''t nning to die in the attack," Morgan said. "He wanted to watch the fallout from afar. To see Kane suffer." "ssic narcissist," Chen agreed. "He doesn''t just want revenge, he wants to enjoy it." Morgan turned to the assembled team, his voice


    As the team dispersed to carry out his orders, Morgan turned back to the evidence wall. Something about the case bothered him, a feeling he couldn''t quite define. It was all too perfect, too neat. Preston had let But why? Why leave so much evidence?


    "Maybe he wants the recognition," Chen suggested when Morgan voiced his concern. "Some bombers do it for the fame, the notoriety."


    "Maybe," Morgan conceded, though he wasn''t convinced.


    Whatever Preston''s reasons, one thing was clear: he needed to be stopped. Before more lives were lost. Before Victoria Kane''s legacy was destroyed.


    Before Herod Prestonpleted his decade-long quest for revenge.


    ***


    As night fell over the city, Morgan stood on the


    roof of the FBI building, watching lights flicker on across the skyline. Many of those lights now powered by the Phoenix Grid, the same grid


    Herod Preston was determined to destroy.


    His phone buzzed with a text from the surveince team: "No sign of Preston at any known locations. Still searching." Morgan put the phone away, frustration gnawing at him. How did a man like Preston, wealthy, visible, well-


    known, simply disappear?


    The answer was as troubling as it was obvious: he''d nned this. All of it. The bombs, the evidence, the escape. Every detail meticulously arranged over months, perhaps years.


    This wasn''t a crime of passion. This was calcted hatred, refined like high-


    grade uranium, deadly and precise. Tomorrow night, Preston would try to destroy the control center. To kill dozens of innocent people. To cripple the city''s power grid and bring Victoria Kane''s empire crashing d Unless Morgan found him first.


    The city lights blurred as exhaustion crept in. Morgan rubbed his eyes, knowing he should sleep but too wired to even consider it.