Chapter 3: The Devil's Ledger
Stoker's reply came within the hour, as Luca was picking at a delivered meal of steak tartare, the raw meat a conscious, defiant choice against the memory of that other, horrific flavor.
Moretti. Ambitious list. Hunting elephants? Inventory attached. Pricing as discussed, plus 15% premium for haste. Delivery to your usual port in Busan in 30 days. Payment in full, upfront. Bitcoin or Monero.
Luca scanned the digital inventory list. It was a butcher's bill for a small war. He calculated the total in his head, a figure that would bankrupt a small nation. It was a rounding error in the vast ledger of his vengeance.
Terms accepted, he typed back. Payment will be sent upon confirmation of shipping manifest. Add ten KS-23 shotguns and 500 rounds of fragmentation shells. The elephants have thick hides.
A pause, then a reply. Done. Pleasure doing business.
A single transaction, conducted in the soulless void of the internet, and he had just acquired more firepower than most national armies. The simplicity of it was chilling. He transferred the staggering sum of cryptocurrency from one of his anonymous wallets, the digital transaction leaving no trace, no regret.
But guns were useless without a place to put them, and without men to wield them. The Citadel was the next, most critical step. He needed a location that was remote, defensible, and capable of sustaining life long after the grid went dark.
He spent the next six hours poring over topographic maps, satellite imagery, and declassified government reports on emergency bunkers and hardened facilities across the Korean peninsula. He dismissed military bases—too obvious, too likely to be nuked. He dismissed coastal areas—vulnerable and unpredictable. His focus narrowed on the Taebaek Mountains, a rugged, sparsely populated range running down the eastern coast.
There. A tiny notation on an old civil defense schematic. Project Nightingale. A Cold War-era communications bunker complex carved into a mountain, designed to house a hundred government personnel for six months. It had been decommissioned in the 90s and supposedly sold off to a private telecom company that went bankrupt. It had fallen off the map.
It was perfect.
Finding the current owner took another two hours of deep-digging through labyrinthine corporate registries and property databases, following a shell company within a shell company. The trail finally ended at a name: Park Ji-hoon, a reclusive, notoriously corrupt former government official who had made a fortune on shady deals during the IMF crisis.
Luca placed a call to a number he hadn't dialed in months. A woman answered, her voice crisp and efficient. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Soo-jin. I need you to clear my schedule for the next three days. Then, I need you to find a home address for a man named Park Ji-hoon. Former Deputy Minister of National Defense. I believe he lives in Seongbuk-dong. Find it. Then, acquire two items for me: a bottle of 1982 Château Pétrus, and a one-kilogram gold bar. Have them delivered to my penthouse by tonight."
Soo-jin, his personal assistant, was the soul of discretion. She didn't ask why. "Immediately, sir."
Park Ji-hoon was a man who had spent his life in back rooms and smoky hofs, trading favors and secrets. He understood the language of bribery and intimidation. Luca would speak it fluently.
The next morning, Luca stood outside a traditional, walled Hanok house in one of Seoul's oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods. He was dressed not in a suit, but in a perfectly fitted black cashmere turtleneck and dark trousers, projecting an aura of understated, dangerous power. He carried the wine and the gold in a simple gift bag.
A stern-faced housekeeper led him through a beautifully manicured garden to a study where Park Ji-hoon, a small, withered man with sharp, avaricious eyes, sat behind a massive desk. The room smelled of old paper and money.
"Mr. Park," Luca said, offering a slight, respectful bow. "A pleasure. I apologize for the intrusion."
Park didn't offer a seat. "Moretti. The Corsican's banker. I know of you. What does your master want?"
Luca smiled, a cold, thin expression. "I represent only myself today. I've come to make you an offer for a piece of worthless property you own. A forgotten hole in the mountains. Project Nightingale."
Park's eyes narrowed instantly, becoming slits of suspicion. "That property is not for sale."
Luca placed the gift bag on the desk. "I brought a peace offering. A bottle of wine to share, and a paperweight for your desk." He let the implication hang in the air. A kilo of gold was no paperweight.
Park didn't even glance at the bag. "You are not the first to ask. Others have… ambitions. That location has value you cannot comprehend."
"I comprehend that its value to you is zero," Luca said, his voice dropping, losing all pretense of civility. "It generates no income. It is a liability. A secret that, if certain people were reminded of it, might bring… unwelcome attention. The kind that might make a retired official very uncomfortable."
It was a bluff, but a educated one. Men like Park were riddled with skeletons.
Park's face tightened. "Are you threatening me?"
"I am offering you a generous exit from a problem you don't need," Luca corrected, his tone glacial. "Name your price. But name it only once. My next offer will be significantly less… courteous."
The two men locked eyes in a silent battle of wills. Park saw the absolute, unshakeable certainty in Luca's gaze. This was not a negotiation. It was an ultimatum. He could take a fortune and walk away, or he could become an enemy of a man who clearly had no limits.
Sweat beaded on Park's brow. He named a figure. It was outrageous, twice the property's market value even if it were prime real estate.
Luca didn't flinch. "Done. The paperwork will be with your lawyer by end of day. The funds will be transferred upon signing." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Enjoy the wine, Mr. Park. It's the last good vintage any of us will see."
He left the old man sitting in his study, staring at the gift bag as if it contained a venomous snake. Luca stepped out into the crisp autumn air. The first piece of his kingdom was his. The mountain would become his fortress. The devil's ledger was open, and the first entry was written in gold and threats.