The city wakes up

By sunrise, Manhattan was already vibrating with noise, sirens, and the echo of a story that would swallow the city whole. David hadn’t slept. He sat in the dark guest room of his grandmother’s old house, watching the morning news explode on screen like a grenade.

At 06:03 AM, Channel 7 cut into its regular broadcast.
The anchor, Melissa Grant, stared into the camera with an expression that mixed fascination and fear.

“This morning we are following a developing financial earthquake,” she said, her voice tight. “A cryptocurrency wallet belonging to local investor and philanthropist Leonard Halper was drained of over seven million dollars overnight. Authorities are calling it one of the largest single-wallet thefts in state history.”

David felt a small ripple of satisfaction. He sipped his tea slowly.

Her co‑anchor, David Rios, shuffled his papers and leaned forward. “To clarify, Melissa, investigators are saying the breach lasted less than ten minutes. Ten minutes for seven million dollars to disappear.”

Melissa nodded sharply. “According to cybersecurity officials, the hacker used proxy nodes across multiple continents. They’re saying this wasn’t a teenager playing games in his bedroom. This was a professional.”

David muttered under his breath, “Not professional. Motivated.”

The report shifted to Field Reporter Jenna Marlow, broadcasting live from the Financial District. Behind her, police tape cut through the crisp morning light. “Leonard Halper,” Jenna said, “is currently cooperating with investigators. He discovered the missing funds at approximately 2:30 AM, after receiving a series of automated alerts from his exchange accounts.”

Halper appeared on screen next, red‑eyed, sweating, and panicked. “I—I don’t understand how this happened,” he said, voice shaking. “That money was secured. It was impossible to take. Whoever did this… they’re dangerous.”

David smirked. Halper didn’t know how correct he was.

The feed returned to Jenna, who continued, “Authorities estimate the hacker funneled the funds through dozens of offshore accounts. Some sources—unconfirmed—claim the laundering operation was executed with surgical precision. One investigator told me, and I quote, ‘It’s almost like the perpetrator rehearsed the theft a thousand times.’”

Jenna turned toward the camera, lowering her voice. “The FBI has already formed a joint task force to identify the individual responsible.”

David’s heart didn’t accelerate. Instead, he felt calmer. The more attention the hack received, the more fear would spread through the circles of people who once believed him dead.

He whispered to himself, “They’re paying attention. Good.”

The broadcast cut to another studio—Channel 12’s early program, led by a stern host named Richard Keane. Richard never smiled, and today he looked even more severe as he announced, “Breaking this morning: the largest personal crypto theft in Manhattan’s history. Analysts say the hacker left no identifiable digital footprint.”

His guest, cybersecurity expert Dr. Helena Voss, lifted her glasses and spoke with an uneasy tone. “The individual behind this understood memory scrubbing, proxy chain randomization, and seed phrase targeting at a level we rarely see. I would classify this as the work of someone with both technical skill and… emotional purpose.”

Richard frowned. “Emotional purpose?”

Voss nodded. “Yes. This wasn’t for fun. Whoever did this wanted the money, but they also wanted to send a message.”

David felt that line like a warm whisper in his ear.

Melissa Grant returned to the screen one more time before commercial break. “Authorities warn the hacker could strike again. If you are a high‑value crypto holder, you are urged to review your security settings immediately. We’ll stay on this story as it unfolds. This is a major development—one that may ripple through the financial world for weeks.”

David leaned back, letting the quiet fill the room.
Seven million dollars.
Dozens of frantic reporters.
FBI involvement.
A city buzzing with fear.

He whispered, “Talk about me. Fear me. That’s the point.”

His grandmother knocked gently on the door, unaware of the storm brewing across every news station. “David, breakfast is ready.”

He wiped the faint smile from his face. “Coming,” he called out.

But as he stood, he glanced at the screen one last time. Melissa Grant was repeating Halper’s words, voice echoing through the room:

“Whoever did this is dangerous.”

David nodded slowly.

They didn’t know the half of it.