All Chapters of RED LABEL: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Inside the boardroom, Evelyn Carter remained seated long after the heavy mahogany doors had glided shut, sealing her in solitary state. She waited. One minute. Then another, meticulously counting the seconds of heavy, air-conditioned silence as though the rhythmic exercise might steady the erratic thrum of her pulse. Only after she felt completely certain that Richard, Miranda, and the rest of the executive wolves had dispersed down the private elevators did she gather her sleek leather portfolios. She stood up, smoothing the front of her cream-colored silk blouse, and stepped out into the hallway. Her steps were measured, her heels clicking against the Italian marble in an unhurried, metronomic cadence. Her spine was locked straight—every inch the iron-willed titan the corporate world expected to see. Her executive assistant, Sophia, rose instantly from behind her minimalist quartz desk as Evelyn approached, her sharp eyes picking up on the invisible micro-tension in her empl

Several miles away from the digital firestorm consuming New Avalon’s financial district, the man everyone online had crowned "King Trash" sat on his usual patch of cracked pavement beside the old 4th Street subway entrance.To the city rushing past, he was invisible—a shadow wrapped in a faded coat, resting on a flattened sheet of cardboard."Did you see the market drops today?" a businessman barked into his bluetooth headset, barely missing the man's stretched-out legs. "Sell it! Sell everything before the opening bell tomorrow!""I'm telling you, she's going to fail the midterm," a college student argued nearby, her earbud dangling. "She didn't even cover chapter four!""Move it out of the bike lane!" a delivery rider yelled, slamming his handlebars as he swerved around the curb.The man on the cardboard didn't flinch. He simply drew his knees in slightly, watching the stream of life with calm, unbothered eyes.A few feet away, a little girl in a bright yellow raincoat halted mid-s

The operatives stopped several feet away.The roar of New Avalon’s midtown traffic, the whirring of delivery drones, and the distant drone of pedestrian chatter faded into an uncomfortable, suffocating stillness.The homeless man looked up at them once. His gray eyes were unreadable—cool, measured, and entirely devoid of panic—before he casually returned his attention to scratching behind the stray dog's ear.The dog, however, wasn't nearly as relaxed. Its ears flattened tightly against its scarred head. Its body stiffened, muscles coiling beneath dirty, matted fur. A low, guttural growl began to vibrate deep in its chest—a harsh, primal warning meant for these men in tailor-made tactical suits who clearly didn't belong on this corner of 4th Street."Grrrrr... rrrr..."Without looking down, the man rested a broad, calloused hand on the nape of the animal's neck. His touch was steady, rooted, and instantly reassuring."Easy, tiger," he murmured. "They're just noise. Don't waste your b

Evelyn Carter asked the same question over and over, silently, obsessively: Who are you? Without quite realizing it, she had become consumed with unraveling the identity of the homeless man who had saved her from the professional kidnappers. His face surfaced in the quiet moments between meetings, in the seconds before sleep, in the flicker of every stranger who moved with unexpected purpose on the street below her office window.Her security detail doubled in size within days, a small army of new faces trained to anticipate the next threat. Yet no amount of reinforcement could touch the hollow unease that had settled beneath her ribs. She still flinched at sudden movements. She still woke gasping from dreams she couldn't fully remember, her body remembering what her mind tried to suppress.More than once, she caught herself fantasizing about the impossible: the homeless man in a tailored suit, positioned at her side, a silent guardian who understood violence in a way her hired pro

Later that day, as twilight painted the sky in shades of bruised purple, he walked through the industrial train yards on the south side of the city. To anyone watching, he moved with the slow, unhurried pace of a drift worker killing time. But beneath that relaxed posture was a mind operating with cold, subconscious precision.​A raspy voice called out from the shadows near a rusted boxcar. "Hey. You got a smoke?"​He didn't pause his gait or jump. He simply cast a brief, assessing glance toward the dark recess where an old yard tramp sat wrapped in a frayed tarp.​"No cigarettes," he replied, his voice low, gravelly from disuse, yet smooth and completely devoid of anxiety.​"Gotta spare nickel then? A dime?" the man rasped, extending a dirt-streaked palm.​"I don't carry coins," he said evenly, stopping just far enough away to keep the tramp outside striking distance. "I've got half a loaf of sourdough from the bakery down on 5th. Hard crust, but good. You want it?"​The old tramp b