Present Day – 11 Years Later
The past never really leaves you. It just hides in corners, waiting for the right moment to knock you off your balance. And today, it showed up with a phone call.
I had just stepped out of the front entrance of Stratos Global Holdings, my name etched in gold above the revolving doors, when my phone buzzed.
Mark Dalton. My oldest friend. The one person from the old world I still kept around.
"Yo, Richie," he said, his voice cheerful, full of that playful chaos only he could pull off. "Big favor, bro. Like... life-saving huge."
"You always say that when you're about to ask for something ridiculous."
"Okay, maybe. But listen—I have dinner with my fiancée's family tonight. The Glacksons. Big shots."
"Glacksons? Like Glackson Financial Group? The $200 billion dollar Glacksons?"
"Yup. The whole clan. Net worth higher than some small countries."
"And you're calling me why?"
"Because, my dear Richie, you're even richer. I need backup."
"You want me to show up to your in-laws' dinner just to outshine them so you don't feel like a peasant?"
"Exactly. See? I knew you'd get it."
"I have a summit tonight in Switzerland."
"Perfect. You can swing by dinner, show them you're the guy whose name is whispered in high-end poker rooms, then fly off into the sky like a billionaire Batman."
"You realize how insane that sounds, right?"
"Insanely brilliant."
I groaned. "Fine. But I'm eating dessert."
"Deal. And you have to glare at someone at the table. Intimidatingly. Just once. For me."
---
Later that evening
We were airborne, the chopper blades slicing through the golden sunset sky. Mark sat beside me in a custom-fitted navy suit, jittery like a teen on his first date.
"You're sweating like you're meeting a hitman, not your fiancée's parents."
"Bro, their chef trained under Gordon Ramsay. Their gardener has an art degree. Their dogs wear designer collars."
"Relax. Worst case scenario, they hate you and sell your engagement ring to pay their electric bill."
"See, this is why I brought you. You're comforting. Like a nuclear warhead."
I looked out the window. Everything below looked so small—like my past. And yet, I felt a strange knot in my chest I couldn't quite place.
---
The helicopter touched down gently on a pristine helipad surrounded by landscaped lawns. Waiting for us was... a small tour bus.
"Wait... this is our ride?" I asked.
Mark blinked. "It looks like we're going to SeaWorld."
"Do they know we're not senior citizens on a cruise tour?"
The driver, a sharply dressed man wearing white gloves and AirPods, opened the door. "Gentlemen. Buckle up. It's a 12-minute ride to the main house."
"Twelve minutes? Are we crossing state lines?"
As we rolled forward, the estate unfolded like a private country. Tennis courts, a polo field, a lake with actual swans, an art gallery shaped like a lotus flower.
"This isn't a house," Mark whispered. "It's a small nation."
"I feel like we need a passport to get to the front door."
The driver chuckled. "Please stay seated. Last week someone stood up mid-turn and flew into the sushi garden."
"Sushi garden?" I mouthed to Mark.
"What in Jeff Bezos' fantasy is this place?"
---
Inside the mansion
The doors were carved mahogany, taller than most buildings I used to work in. A butler with posture so perfect it hurt to look at took our coats.
The entry hall had marble floors, a chandelier big enough to crash a plane into, and soft violin music playing from somewhere invisible.
Mr. and Mrs. Glackson greeted us with the poise of royals.
"Ah, Mr. Cade," Mr. Glackson said, shaking my hand firmly. "Mark's told us much about you."
"All lies, I hope."
He chuckled. "Only the good kind."
"Your home is magnificent," I added.
"Oh, this old thing?" he waved. "My father designed it. Took three years just to finish the north wing."
"It shows."
Dinner was served in a hall that looked like it had hosted diplomats. Gold-rimmed plates. Wine poured from bottles older than most governments.
The conversation was pleasant, though I caught Mr. Glackson giving me the occasional measured glance. Wealth recognizes wealth, but it also sizes it up.
Then came the children.
Eliza Glackson – Mark's fiancée. Smart, sweet, clearly adored him. She greeted me warmly and pulled Mark closer to her with genuine affection.
Naomi Glackson – second daughter. And the Naomi Glackson. International model, pop singer, film star. The kind of woman people name perfumes after. She walked in with effortless grace, stealing the air from the room.
James Glackson – youngest son. Quiet. T-shirt under his blazer. Muted social energy. A fellow gamer, probably.
When Naomi walked in, my stomach dropped.
I knew that face.
She had changed—grown into her fame—but it was her. My classmate. She used to sit behind me in geometry, chewing gum and ignoring my existence.
Back when I was fat Richie.
Now, I was Richard Cade. She didn't recognize me.
I stayed quiet. Watched her laugh, sip wine, casually mention a meeting with Dior.
The air around her was electric. And distant.
A soft moment came when she briefly locked eyes with me.
"You look... familiar," she said.
I smiled. "Probably just one of those faces."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, curious, then turned her attention back to her wine.
Mark leaned over. "You okay? You look like someone just slapped you with déjà vu."
"I'm fine," I said, lying. "I think I've been here before."
"Wait, like... for real?"
I looked at the roads we passed earlier. The layout of the estate. The subtle scent of cedar in the air.
Then it hit me like a cold wave.
This was my hometown.
The one I left behind. The one that spit me out.
The old road I used to bike on was now a marble-paved driveway. The factory where I worked night shifts had turned into a vineyard. The neighborhood that mocked me had been absorbed into wealth.
No wonder it felt familiar.
The Glackson estate was my childhood neighborhood. Just evolved. Repainted in luxury.
And now, I had returned. Not as Richie the embarrassment.
But as Richard Cade, the man they never saw coming.
I leaned back in my chair, hiding the quiet fire behind m
y eyes.
Naomi sat across from me, still oblivious.
She didn't recognize me.
And that was fine.
I had no intention of staying invisible this time.
Not anymore.