Chapter 693

“We’ll be arriving shortly, Mr. Falcon,” one of the staff assigned to this flight informed him.

Falcon, who had been reviewing several work files the entire time, lifted his gaze briefly. He gave a small nod without needing to look at the man who had spoken.

Then he turned his eyes toward the clouds outside, layered into a striking formation beyond his seat window, a reminder that he was still high above the earth.

After indulging in the view for a moment, he shifted his attention to the bottle of wine prepared for him. He poured it slowly into the waiting glass and took a measured sip, savoring the taste as it spread across his tongue.

“We’ll be seeing each other very soon, Naomi,” Falcon said with a faint smirk.

Then, in a single swallow, he emptied the rest of the wine.

The sky over Hong Kong had begun to dim when Don Falcon’s private jet touched down on a private runway on the eastern side of the city. A light rain had only just ended. The wet asphalt reflected the runway lights like fractured black glass streaked with lines of gold.

The stairs were lowered.

Falcon stepped out first, his stride calm and unhurried, dressed in a dark suit without a single crease. The city’s humid air greeted him, yet it did nothing to alter his expression.

Below, four men were already waiting beside black glass-plated cars, holding umbrellas.

“Welcome, sir,” one of them said with a bow.

Falcon handed over his leather gloves. “What report do you have for me?”

The man fell into step beside him as they headed toward the car. “Our network at the port, hotels, and private routes is already in motion. Naomi’s name has not appeared in any public system.”

“And it’s been a week since she left Berlin.”

The staff member swallowed nervously, afraid of provoking the terrifying temper Don Falcon was known for.

“But there is one interesting pattern, Mr. Falcon.”

Falcon slid into the back seat. “Go on.”

The door shut, and moments later the car pulled smoothly away from the hangar, followed by other vehicles escorting him toward his temporary residence in Hong Kong.

“Since three days ago, several private service routes in the Mid-Levels area have been closed to the public. Additional security appeared in specific zones. Some of our people recognized internal insignia commonly used by the Miller family.”

Falcon leaned back. “So she is there.”

“Most likely, sir.”

He looked out the window at the city rushing past, millions of lights burning bright in the dark.

“Good. Continue until you find the best opening.”

“Yes, sir.” The man in the front seat handed back a tablet. “There is something else you should see.”

Falcon took the device.

The screen displayed old photographs, clipped business articles, sealed archives bought at a high price, and records of names

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deliberately buried for years.

Cale Miller.

And beneath it, another name.

Chen Kailun.

Falcon’s gaze paused.

“So… that’s how it is?”

His staff swallowed again. “The Miller name is used in the international business world. But in Hong Kong, some of the old

circles know him as Chen Kailun.”

Falcon scrolled.

Photos of old buildings, a black dragon symbol, company lists, and records of past conflicts appeared one after another.

“Chen Kailun is the chairman of the Black Dragon organization,” the man continued quietly. “A network dealing in security, logistics, investments, and… things not always officially recorded. Even the regional prosecutors where he operates stand behind him. That is why nearly every move Chen Kailun makes in Hong Kong goes forward without resistance.”

“No wonder he was so difficult to trace,” Falcon chuckled. “But… the Chen Clan? That is very surprising.”

“As you know from the information we gathered, the Chen Clan was nearly wiped out in the family wars. Many members were killed or disappeared. But in the last few years, they’ve risen again. Fast and brutal. Many people link that resurgence to Chen Kailun’s leadership. Others suspect it happened because, in the past, Cale Miller was one of the most trusted men of the Black Dragon leader, Chief Chen.”

A faint smile curved Falcon’s lips. “I came looking for one girl. Instead, I found a far more interesting story.”

His mind drifted back to the first time he met Naomi.

That day, heavy rain had been pouring over Berlin. The thin girl had been limping along the street with an injury on her leg. Her breathing was ragged, and when she was about to cross the road, whether she had lost focus or truly wanted to die, Falcon had not cared enough to know.

What mattered was this: just before the hood of his car could strike her frail body, Naomi collapsed first.

Falcon took her to the hospital.