"Arka! Oh my God, where have you been?"
His mother rushed forward the moment he stepped through the door, her face pale with worry. The clock on the wall showed it was well past midnight.
"It's past midnight!" Her voice trembled slightly.
"I'm sorry, Mom." Arka gave her a quick hug before turning to lock the door behind him—twice. His movements were deliberate, careful.
"There was... a business opportunity I couldn't pass up."
She studied his appearance, eyes narrowing as she took in his disheveled state. "You look like a mess. And..." Her gaze fixed on his sleeve. "Is that blood on your sleeve?"
Arka glanced down, noticing the red smear for the first time. Probably from the glass when he'd jumped out of Kayla's library window.
"Just a scratch. Nothing serious." He tried to sound casual.
"Arka." His mother's voice had gone dangerously calm. "What exactly were you doing tonight?"
He sank down onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion suddenly weighing on him. How much could he tell her? How much should he?
"I met some important people tonight, Mom."
"What kind of people send you home with torn clothes and blood on your arm?" The quiver in her voice betrayed her emotions—caught between anger and fear.
He could see the worry etched into every line of her face. Deep worry. But Arka chose silence. He'd never meant to drag her into this mess.
"I'm sorry, Mom. Really. I'm okay—just tired. Can I rest now?"
Without waiting for her answer, he turned away, letting silence fill the small room like fog. From where she stood, his mother gazed at his back, her eyes swimming with a helpless mixture of concern and longing—for a truth he refused to share.
Morning sunlight sliced through the narrow window of their modest inn room.
Arka jolted awake, breath catching in his throat before reality settled in.
*I'm safe. I made it back.*
The dream of last night's frantic escape still haunted him, clinging to his mind like spider's silk. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped it away and slowly sat up.
"Arka? Are you awake, dear?"
His mother's gentle voice called from outside.
"Yes, Mom," he replied, running a hand through his tangled hair.
She stepped in with a modest breakfast tray. The familiar scent of jasmine tea filled the room.
"Come eat. You look pale—I've been worried."
She sat beside him, her eyes filled with that same storm of love and fear he'd seen last night.
"You've always been smart, Arka. Even when you were little." She touched his arm gently. "But I'm worried you're getting involved in something dangerous."
He stared at the steam rising from his cup. "Mom, what if there's a way to make a lot of money? Enough to change our lives forever?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
She gave him a tender smile. "Life isn't just about money, Arka."
"But money gives us options," he said, setting down his cup with more force than intended. "It gives us the power to choose how we live, not just be pawns in someone else's game."
"As long as the way you earn it is right," she replied softly, but firmly.
Arka didn't answer. In his mind, right and wrong had blurred into shades of gray. He thought of Devina Hartono, the stockbroker from Kayla's party. The information she'd casually dropped wasn't just idle gossip—it was valuable. Profitable.
"I need to head out for a bit today, Mom. I have things to take care of."
Her eyes searched his face, but she only nodded.
After washing up and finishing breakfast, Arka sat at the small table in the corner.
A morning paper from the inn's owner lay open to the business section. His eyes devoured the information—stock market updates, commodity trends, corporate announcements.
He was hunting for confirmation. Something to back up what he'd overheard about the Damar Group planning to acquire small mining operations in the southern islands.
Nothing official yet—of course not.
That kind of information circulated only among the elite. But there were breadcrumbs: increased trading volume for small mining companies, experts hinting at industry consolidation, an economist predicting a spike in mineral prices.
A plan crystallized in his mind.
If he could gather more intel and act before the news became public, the profit could be enormous. But he needed capital—and access to a trading platform.
Arka pulled out Devina Hartono's business card from his pocket. Sleek. Professional. The Golden Capital Futures logo glimmered in gold ink. Below it sat the address of an upscale office tower downtown.
"Next week is too late," he murmured, fingers closing around the Cadurian ring in his other hand. "I have to move now."
Early morning found Arka at a small café across from the Golden Capital Futures tower.
Steam rose from his coffee cup as he watched the building's entrance, waiting. Devina's ivory-white business card felt cool against his palm.
At precisely 8:45, a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb.
Devina stepped out, poised in a navy-blue business suit that screamed power and confidence. Arka studied her every movement—her walk, how she held her leather purse, her brief nod to the lobby guard.
He committed every detail to memory.
Once she disappeared into the building, Arka hurried to the café restroom. Inside a stall, he pulled out the Cadurian ring.
Eyes closed, he focused on her image—sharp jawline, calculating eyes, the subtle confident curve of her lips.
The ring glowed.
The transformation began: his skin softened, bones shifted, posture elongated.
In seconds, he had become Devina Hartono.
He examined himself in a pocket mirror. *Flawless*.
"Good morning," he said, testing her voice. Perfect—crisp, feminine, authoritative.
Sunglasses on, he crossed the street and entered the tower with measured confidence.
"Good morning, Ms. Devina," the security guard greeted with a polite smile.
"Morning," Arka replied, matching her exact tone.
"Didn't you already go in?" The guard's brow creased slightly.
Arka laughed—light and dismissive, exactly as she would. "I had to grab a document from the car. Left it behind earlier."
The guard nodded, satisfied, and let him pass.
Arka strolled through the lobby, mentally mapping the layout. At the far end, a receptionist juggled calls. Without breaking stride, he bypassed the desk and headed straight for the elevators.
"Eighteenth floor," he whispered to himself, recalling her business card.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal a sleek black-and-gold reception area.
The Hartono Capital logo dominated the wall behind the reception desk. Employees moved briskly around, tablets and folders clutched in their hands.
"Ms. Devina?" The receptionist blinked in confusion. "Didn't you just go into your office?"
*Danger.*
Arka didn't miss a beat. "Yes, I just stepped out briefly. Please hold all calls—I need quiet to prepare for the eleven o'clock meeting."
"But, ma'am—"
"Is there a problem?" He added just the right amount of sharpness to his tone.
The receptionist shook her head quickly. "No, ma'am. Sorry."
He walked on, following the right corridor. Near the end, a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only" caught his attention.
He tried the handle. Locked.
A scanner beside the door blinked red, waiting for credentials.
"Need help, Ms. Devina?"
A voice startled him. A young man with an IT Department badge approached, smiling helpfully.
"Ah, yes." Arka adjusted his posture to mirror Devina's confident stance. "I must've left my access card at my desk. I need to check some trading data for my presentation."
"No problem." The man swiped his card. The door clicked open.
"Thanks. You can get back to your work now." Arka gave him Devina's crisp, professional smile.
The young man nodded and walked away.
Inside, rows of servers hummed quietly like sleeping giants.
A few computer terminals glowed in the dim light. Arka approached one—still logged in.
The screen displayed a professional trading system, graphs and figures dancing in real-time. The user ID in the corner read D.Hartono.
"Perfect," he whispered, sliding into the chair.
Within minutes, Arka had mastered the system's interface. His mind absorbed technical details effortlessly, like water soaking into sand.
He searched for mining companies on the southern islands. After several queries, one name jumped out—PT Mineralido Sejahtera, a mid-tier mining firm operating in that exact region.
*Bingo.*
The stock had remained stable for months. But if the acquisition rumors were true...
Arka quickly jotted down the stock code and key details. Then he accessed internal reports from Hartono Capital's archives, finding a promising file: "Mining Sector Forecast Q3–Q4."
It hinted at likely consolidation across the industry—indirect but significant confirmation of what he'd overheard.
Voices and footsteps suddenly echoed outside the door.
Heart hammering, Arka closed every file. He peeked into the corridor—clear for now.
He slipped out, walking briskly toward the elevator. At the far end of the hallway, the real Devina Hartono appeared, deep in conversation with an employee.
His pulse skyrocketed.
Turning sharply, he ducked into another corridor and pushed through the emergency stairwell door.
Down he went—two steps at a time—until he reached the ground floor. He waited for a quiet moment in the lobby, then slipped out through a side door and hurried to the nearest public restroom.
Inside a stall, Arka shed Devina's form like an old skin, returning to himself.
He drew a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. The information he'd just stolen was pure gold—he now knew exactly which stocks to buy and how Hartono Capital's trading system operated.
"Phase one complete," he whispered, slipping the ring back into his pocket. "Time to invest."
That afternoon, Arka sat cross-legged on the floor of his inn room.
An aging laptop—bought from a pawnshop with Mr. Surya's money—glowed before him. Beside it lay a weathered notebook filled with scribbled stock details he'd memorized from Hartono Capital's files.
He pulled up an online trading platform and registered a new account.
Once verified, he transferred every last rupiah he possessed into it.
With trembling fingers but a razor-sharp mind, he keyed in the stock code for PT Mineralido Sejahtera and placed the maximum order he could afford.
"Transaction complete," he murmured, eyes locked on the confirmation message.
In that moment, Arka knew he had crossed a line—stepped into a world both dangerous and lucrative. A world of market manipulation powered by stolen secrets.
Over the next week, Arka became obsessed with Mineralido's stock chart.
The first two days: nothing. Flat line. Patience.
Day three: a slight uptick. Probably other insiders quietly buying in.
Days four and five: the climb became undeniable. Arka allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
But day six brought the real fireworks.
His phone buzzed with a notification: "Damar Group Acquires PT Mineralido Sejahtera at 40% Premium Over Market Price."
Within seconds, the stock price soared, nearly hitting the daily upper limit allowed by the exchange.
His screen showed a vertical price spike and a profit figure almost five times his initial investment.
"This is just the beginning," he whispered, eyes gleaming with raw ambition. "No more poverty. No more worrying about the rains or the drought. With this strategy, I can finally live like the people we've only ever watched from afar."
That evening, Arka liquidated his entire Mineralido holding, securing his profits before any correction could hit.
Once the money landed in his account, he quickly split it into multiple transfers, dispersing it across different bank accounts. Careful. Methodical. Untraceable.
Meanwhile, in a different corner of the city, inside Hartono Capital's cyber-security office, a bespectacled middle-aged man frowned at his computer screen.
Benny Wicaksana, Head of System Security, had spent days tracking a strange anomaly in the company's network.
"Something's off," he muttered, sipping cold coffee as system logs scrolled by.
Two logins stood out—both using Devina Hartono's credentials, recorded nearly simultaneously from different locations within the same building.
Benny scrolled down, examining the accessed files. Most were mining sector analyses and confidential reports on small to mid-tier mining companies—including PT Mineralido Sejahtera.
"Too perfect to be coincidence," he whispered, recalling the market's recent excitement over the acquisition.
He pulled up Mineralido's trading activity before the announcement and spotted an unusual spike in volume—a classic sign of information leakage.
Just as he reached for the phone to request security footage, his desk phone rang. The caller ID: Devina Hartono.
"Benny, it's me," her voice was tense. "I just got a strange report from compliance. Someone used my name to access sensitive data last week. Are you seeing this too?"
"I'm on it." Benny's stomach tightened. "Devina, think back to last Monday. Were you away from your office around 9:30 AM?"
"No, I was on a teleconference with Singapore. From nine to nearly eleven," she replied instantly. "Why?"
Benny exhaled slowly. "Because the logs show your ID logged into the server room at exactly that time, while your office computer was also actively accessing the client database."
Silence on the other end.
"That's impossible unless..."
"Unless someone was impersonating you," Benny finished. "And whoever it was, they were especially interested in mining companies tied to the Damar Group acquisition."
"Wait." The sound of papers shuffling came through the line. "I met someone who was very interested in mining. At Kayla Indriani's party last week... What was his name..." More shuffling. "Arjuna Wijaya. A young businessman bidding on a port project."
"Arjuna Wijaya?" Benny typed the name into his search engine. "Wasn't there some news about an impostor at that same party using his name?"
"Oh God." Devina's voice cracked with sudden realization. "You're right. The morning after, there was a small scandal—someone had snuck into Kayla's party pretending to be Arjuna Wijaya."
Benny quickly accessed the building's CCTV archive, focusing on the lobby and elevators around 9:30 AM that day.
It didn't take long to find Devina entering the building—twice that morning.
"I've got something," Benny said, studying the footage closely. "But how did they mimic you so perfectly? Even your walk..."
He fast-forwarded, watching as the fake Devina interacted with staff without raising any suspicion.
"This is more than just a disguise," Devina murmured. "And if they accessed Mineralido's data before the acquisition..."
"Then they almost certainly exploited it for profit," Benny finished grimly. "I'll file reports with internal security and the financial regulators. We're looking at identity theft—and probable insider trading."
After ending the call, Benny stared at the paused video, the impostor's face frozen on screen.
He zoomed in, examining every uncanny detail of a woman who looked exactly like Devina—but wasn't.
"Who are you?" he whispered, eyes narrowing.
There was something in those eyes—something cold and calculating.
He didn't know it yet, but Benny had just pulled the first thread of a carefully woven web—one that, if unraveled, could expose Arka's entire operation and the ruthless ambition driving it all.
The hunt had begun.