A week had passed since the latest board meeting ended in chaos a subtle, quiet chaos, not the screaming type but one that left cold silences and watchful eyes in its wake. Mr. Dime still known to the world as Elias Thorne was no longer merely navigating a corporate labyrinth. He was now manipulating it.
Each move he made turned heads. Whispers followed him down every marble hallway of Draxon's executive floors. Some admired him. Others wanted him crushed. A few simply watched, waiting for him to fall on his own brilliance.
Tonight, however, wasn't about strategy. It wasn't about vengeance or calculated power plays. It was about tension, unspoken truths, and a chance encounter that would shift the dynamic of everything that lay ahead.
The rooftop of the Draxon Towers was usually empty at this hour 10:47 p.m. The sky stretched wide over the city, moonlight painting the steel and glass buildings in silver. Dime stood there alone, hands in his coat pockets, facing the wind.
Behind him, the elevator pinged.
"You don't sleep much anymore." The voice was familiar measured, deep, and laced with cynicism.
Dime turned. Landon Crick stepped forward, loosened his tie, and lit a cigarette, leaning against the railing.
"Neither do you," Dime replied.
Landon exhaled, watching the smoke drift away. "I heard you shut down the Mirage Contract. That move lost us seventy million in preliminary bids."
"It would've cost us a hundred and fifty if I hadn't. It was a trap. One of Dexter's buried landmines."
Landon smirked. "You're getting good at spotting those."
"I've had good teachers," Dime said, pausing. "Even if they didn't know they were teaching."
For a while, there was only silence between them two men bound by legacy, secrets, and mutual distrust.
Then, without turning, Landon said, "Do you know what Valerie's been up to?"
The name struck harder than it should have.
"I haven't asked."
"She's worried about you. That whole scandal with Duchess Corp's rep… What was her name again? Amara?"
Dime stiffened. "Amara wasn't part of that. I was drugged."
Landon laughed quietly. "That's what they all say."
Dime turned toward him. "I don't care what you believe, Landon. I care what's true. And what's true is that someone wanted to ruin me before the Zurich Acquisition. Someone who knows the old Elias Thorne his weaknesses, his appetites."
"You mean someone who was Elias Thorne?" Landon countered, flicking his cigarette into the wind.
That silenced Dime. For the briefest moment, his mask faltered.
Landon stepped closer. "You're different now. Quieter. Sharper. But don't think I haven't noticed. You hesitate in halls you used to dominate. You don't recognize people you once slept with. And you avoid mirrors like they show you something you'd rather forget."
Dime said nothing.
Landon's voice dropped lower. "So who are you really, Elias?"
A quiet breeze passed. Somewhere below, a siren wailed.
Finally, Dime replied, "Someone who remembers drowning. And waking up in another man's life."
Landon's eyes narrowed. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Back inside his suite later that night, Dime removed his jacket and poured himself a drink. The golden liquid swirled in his glass like liquid fire.
He sat in silence, staring out the window, replaying Landon's words.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number, We need to talk. Before the shadows swallow you whole. M..
Magritte.
He hadn't heard from her in weeks not since the moment in the sublevel parking garage, when she'd handed him that encrypted drive and warned him never to trust the Board.
He called back immediately. No answer.
Instead, a message pinged, Come to Level four.
The underground levels of Draxon Tower weren't publicly documented. Only a few executives knew they existed at all. They had been constructed decades ago, a paranoid initiative of the founder during the Cold War.
As the elevator opened into the eerie stillness of Level -4, Dime stepped out cautiously. The air was colder here. The walls were unpolished concrete. It felt like a bunker… or a tomb.
He walked toward a flickering blue light at the end of the hall.
Magritte stood waiting.
She looked different now wearing a leather jacket, hair tied back, gun holstered casually at her waist. A far cry from the polished cybersecurity consultant he'd first met.
"Glad you came," she said. "I thought maybe the new you would've ignored the invitation."
He approached. "And I thought maybe you'd disappeared."
"I don't disappear, Elias. I just go dark."
"You left me in a mess with Amara."
"I saved your ass," she snapped. "If I hadn't shown up when I did, you'd be rotting in a Thai prison, framed for corporate espionage."
Dime paused. "What do you know?"
Magritte reached into her bag and tossed him a folder.
Inside were photos. Surveillance stills. Wiretap logs. Copies of internal emails.
The faces of powerful people.
Dexter. Landon. Two members of the Inner Circle he didn't even know were part of the scheme.
"They're planning a coup," Magritte said. "Not against the company. Against you. You've become a liability to all of them."
He closed the folder slowly. "Let them come."
Magritte crossed her arms. "That's not the plan. You're not just going to react, Elias. You're going to own this game. But you need to know something."
"What?"
"You weren't the only one who switched lives that night. Someone else came back with you."
Dime blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"
Magritte's expression was cold, unreadable. "It means the past is still alive. And it's walking around in someone else's body."
The ground seemed to shift beneath him.
Before he could ask more, a sharp metallic sound rang out.
Gunfire.
A bullet hit the wall behind him.
Magritte grabbed his hand. "No more time. We need to move now!"