Mysterious Awakening - Chapter 114

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Wesley carried an aura of calm and certainty about him. His composure wasn’t just superficial. It emanated from a profound grasp of his present circumstances.

He had intimate knowledge of the vast reach and influence of his company. More than that, he was cognizant of the powerful allies he had nurtured in secret, the critical importance of the laboratory, and the unique technique to manage and rejuvenate malevolent spirits.

This extensive awareness and understanding transformed him, someone who might be seen as just an ordinary businessman, into a figure of significant importance.

So, when Wesley found himself standing before Miles, a known ghost tamer, he didn’t cower or show apprehension. Perhaps the only unease he felt came from a natural trepidation towards the supernatural. But Wesley was confident: if there was any shred of rationale left in Miles, the young tamer would refrain from harming him. The reality was that these ghost tamers, including Miles, depended on Wesley’s company for their livelihoods.

Addressing Miles, Wesley said, “Miles, I’ve done my research on you. I’m privy to your family’s history and the circumstances of your upbringing. Life for you wasn’t rosy growing up in a single-parent home. It was filled with challenges. Your unexpected encounter with a ghost during your high school years was probably a turning point, pushing you towards the life of a ghost tamer. Aiming for a better social standing and wealth, given your past, isn’t surprising. I may sound blunt, but it’s just the reality. I don’t look down on such ambitions in people like you. If you decide to work alongside me, you’ll find that these dreams can soon become tangible.”

With a subtle gesture towards one of his subordinates, he inquired, “Manager Sun, how much did we quote Mr. Miles for the spirit he’s captured?”

“Going rate is 100 million,” Manager Sun replied promptly.

Wesley nodded in acknowledgment. Refocusing on Miles, he continued, “I understand and respect the risks you took with this supernatural case. But I must clarify that I’m not aware of the documents you referred to. They hold information that is deeply confidential. My role as the owner of the company doesn’t grant me access to such sensitive paranormal records. There seems to be some confusion on your end.”

He went on, “Nevertheless, we at the company always aim for peaceful relations. Hence, for the spirit you’ve managed to detain, we’re prepared to offer a sum that’s 50% above the market price. That’s a substantial 150 million. Does that sound fair to you?”

Wesley’s strategy was clear. Instead of solely banking on his ability to control the spirits to negotiate, he decided on a more compassionate and straightforward tactic. He sought to gain Miles’s trust and alliance with a financial enticement. Wesley understood an essential truth: while you couldn’t sway spirits with money, humans were a different matter entirely.

Upon observing Miles’s silence, Stretch attempted to reason with him. “Miles, I’m struggling to understand the connection between these files you’re mentioning and our current predicament. However, I implore you to maintain your composure. Let’s address this once the day is behind us. Individuals in our line of work seldom enjoy lengthy lifespans. Any clarity or answers you seek can be addressed once we’ve successfully prolonged the revival duration of these malevolent spirits. Does this sound agreeable?”

Yet, Miles appeared to be in a world of his own. There was an unsettling quality to his stare, which was unwaveringly directed at Wesley. In a firm tone, he voiced, “I will reiterate my question just once more: what is the reality underlying these files? Do not attempt to divert my attention. In my perspective, our business deal and the file situation are distinct matters. We’ve held up our end by managing the supernatural event. Now, it’s your company’s turn to fulfill its commitment. Pertaining to the files, I demand a justification from your enterprise. Someone within your ranks faltered, and they must be held answerable.”

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Miles’s urgency to decipher the connection between the concealed portions of these files and the enigmatic corporation was palpable. His life had been in grave danger because of the gaps in this information. If those documents had disclosed that Frank was still among the living or informed him about the ghostly coffin, Miles could have approached the situation more directly, facilitating a swifter resolution.

Therefore, someone needed to face the consequences. Be it the company’s top brass or an individual at the headquarters.

Miles was doubtful he would escape unscathed if a similar predicament presented itself in the future.

Observing the unwavering determination in the young man, Wesley seemed somewhat cornered. He responded, “Miles, it’s unwise to obsess over this. In our world, many actions aren’t purely black or white but operate in the gray realm of self-interest. Sometimes, withholding certain information can serve a larger goal, and the sacrifices made in its pursuit can be deemed essential.”

“When our enterprise embarked on this venture, we perceived it as a sort of trial. Our initial sentiments were far from hopeful. The group from the ‘Cockroach Club’—five members, along with you, making six—were dispatched with fragmented data. Our internal evaluations estimated a survival likelihood for all of you to be under one percent, and the chances of effectively resolving the supernatural incident were less than ten percent.”

“However, against all odds, you emerged unscathed. And in doing so, you’re poised to receive everything you were promised. Isn’t that the ultimate objective?”

Miles’s countenance grew severe, “Your points may seem logical, but I’ve always detested dealing in hypotheticals.”

Without warning, Miles swiftly drew a handgun from his possession and pressed it menacingly against Wesley’s head.

“Excuse me?” Wesley had genuinely believed his logic would soothe Miles’s anger, perhaps even persuade him.

Yet, the sight of Miles smoothly pulling out a handgun and positioning it squarely against his temple sent shockwaves of fear throughout Wesley’s body. The unmistakable chill of the gun’s barrel against his skin cemented the terrifying reality: Miles was genuinely contemplating ending his life.

“He’s lost it; logic won’t work with him,” a frantic thought raced through Wesley’s mind.

Within moments, Wesley’s face became pallid, bathed in sweat. Terror was painted across his features. Had his words fallen on deaf ears? What could possibly be gained from ending his life? The death would jeopardize the invaluable technique to control the reawakening of the malevolent spirit. Surely, a rational person wouldn’t act with such impulsiveness.

“Miles, please, think this through,” Wesley implored, his hands lifted in a gesture of submission, his body rigid with fright, “Killing me will unleash a storm of consequences.”

“Calm? I’ll only find peace with you out of the picture,” Miles retorted, his tone dripping with menace. “If no one is stepping up to account for this mess, then you’ll become the scapegoat. Unless that happens, situations like this will happen again. With your death, anyone who engages with supernatural affairs in the future will think twice before feeding me doctored information. The message will be loud and clear about what happens when one crosses paths with me,” Miles’s words were sharp, slicing through the thick tension like a knife.

Hearing this, a bone-chilling dread overcame Wesley. He grasped the gravity of Miles’s plan. The young man intended to use him as a cautionary tale, reminiscent of the adage “kill the chicken to scare the monkey,” signifying to penalize one as an example to deter others.

While Miles might have been in the dark about who the real puppeteer orchestrating events was, he didn’t particularly care. His sole objective was to broadcast a stark warning: betraying him would be met with fatal consequences.

To Miles, Wesley was the perfect target, a visible figurehead who appeared to hold considerable influence.

The unmistakable click of the gun’s safety being released was haunting. That dread-inducing sound, accentuated by its closeness to Wesley’s forehead, reverberated menacingly in the silent room.

“Wait, wait, let’s talk this through,” Wesley beseeched, his voice quivering with panic, beads of sweat forming on his face.

“I’ve heard enough,” Miles replied, his voice frosty. Then, in the very next moment, the deafening sound of a gunshot resonated.