Chapter 12

The iron door of the Association’s inner sanctum groaned, the metal frame buckling under the rhythmic, wet thud of shoulders. Outside, the collective roar of a neighborhood that had just realized its life’s work was collateral for a ghost-debt was no longer a murmur—it was a siege.

Mei Lin sat at the mahogany console, her fingers steadying as she finalized the handshake protocol. The screen flickered, the blue light washing out her face, reflecting the progress bar of the trust transfer. She wasn't just a facilitator anymore; she was the record-keeper of their ruin, the only person left with the keys to the digital cage.

"They aren't stopping, Mei," Auntie Li said, her voice brittle. She braced her thin frame against the door, a heavy brass fire extinguisher clutched in her hand like a talisman. "They see the names on their phones. They see what Uncle Wei did to their parents. You gave them the truth, and now they want to burn the ledger to make sure it never happens again."

"If they burn it, they burn the titles, too," Mei snapped, her eyes locked on the console. "If the registry vanishes, they’re squatters on their own land. I’m locking the titles into the trust. Thirty seconds."

Another collision rocked the room. A hinge screamed, metal shearing against stone. Through the crack, Mei saw the faces of the shopkeepers she had known all her life—twisted not by greed, but by the jagged, raw realization of betrayal. Auntie Li didn't look back. She jammed the fire extinguisher into the door handle, a pathetic but desperate barricade. "Go," Li whispered. "Through the server room. If you stay, you’re just another target for their grief."

Mei hit Enter. The transfer bar turned from red to solid green. The neighborhood’s titles were no longer held by the Association; they were locked in a decentralized trust, impossible to strip, impossible to sell. But as the confirmation pinged, the server room terminal went dead. The screen flickered, the interface replaced by a live video feed from a sterile, high-altitude office. A man sat in a shadow-drenched chair, his face obscured by the harsh backlighting of a city skyline.

"You’ve made a very expensive mistake, Mei," the voice came through the speakers, cold and international

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