After my dinner with Juliet, I slept with a rare sense of peace. I fell into the most fantasized dream I've ever had. It was about her—wearing that black dress from our dinner, her dark eyes reflecting the light as she laughed and smiled at me. It was a perfect loop of the best parts of the evening, a dream so vivid it felt like I could reach out and touch the silk of her hair. But I've lived a life that taught me a brutal lesson early on: there is always something lurking around the corner, waiting to spoil the good day ahead of you. It's the tax you pay for a moment of genuine happiness.
That "something" arrived in the form of my assistant, Brian. He called me early this morning, his voice a sharp intrusion into the lingering warmth of the dream. He told me I needed to get to the local quarter to meet Arthur. My immediate instinct was to refuse. I told him I would pass; Arthur was a ghost I had no interest in haunting. But then Brian added the detail that changed the stakes: Arthur was there with Jonathan Mandel.
Mandel is the leader of one of the biggest high-tech fake companies in the industry. The man is a titan who pulls in billions of dollars per year by playing a game much larger than the one Arthur is capable of understanding. Because of that, I couldn't refuse the meeting. Even if it had Arthur in it—the very man I despised—the presence of Mandel meant this was a calculated move I couldn't ignore.
Now, I'm sitting in the meeting room, the atmosphere cold and sterilized despite the opulence. I specifically kept this room expensive and intimidating; I want rich investors to see exactly what kind of power they are dealing with the moment they walk through the door. Brian is on my side, his fingers moving with practiced ease over his iPad as usual.
"I am happy to meet you, Mr. Lockwood," Jonathan Mandel said, breaking the silence.
"Delighted, Mr. Mandel. What brought you here?" I asked. I didn't waste time on pleasantries. My voice was level, stripped of any warmth.
"Doesn't go around the bush. I like this guy," Mandel said, turning to Arthur. "I know Arthur doesn't fulfill your bidding requirements yet, but he has a bright future. I can see it."
As Mandel spoke, Arthur reached up and fixed his tie. The movement was slow, deliberate, and designed to catch my eye. I felt a surge of cold fury. The fucker was wearing what I wore yesterday. It wasn't a total match, but it was almost accurate—the same cut of the lapel, the same shade of charcoal, the same way the cuffs sat against his wrists. I knew he had fixed his tie specifically for me to see it, a pathetic attempt to mirror the man he was trying to replace.
"You may see a future in him, Mr. Mandel," I said, leaning back and letting my gaze rake over Arthur like he was a stain on the carpet. "Not to be rude, but I see trash. I'm not falling for whatever Plan B of yours this is, Arthur."
I didn't blink. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my irritation. I simply laid the truth out on the table like a lead weight.
"I am going to go," Jonathan said. He was a smart man; he knew when the air in a room had turned toxic. He stood up and left without a backward glance, leaving the wreckage of Arthur's "bright future" behind.
Arthur stayed. He stood there for a long moment, the silence of the room closing in on him. "Marcus, please..."
Before he could even finish the sentence, before he could offer whatever pathetic apology or explanation he'd rehearsed, I cut him off. "You may leave. And never come back, if you can."
I turned my back on him, staring at the wall until I heard the door open and shut. I didn't wait. I immediately picked up the phone and called my interior designer.
"Change it," I told her. "The private meeting room. Change the style completely. Every chair, every light fixture, every piece of art."
I was sure Arthur had noted everything. He would try to copy-paste the room perfectly for his next meeting, trying to sell a version of my success as his own. If I couldn't get the image of him in my suit out of my head, I would at least ensure he couldn't steal the space I worked in.
I spent the rest of the day buried in the project I'm developing with Evander. It's our masterpiece, the one that will allow us to leave this industry for good. It's built on logic, on a "perfect science" that doesn't allow for human error or the interference of parasites like Arthur. I got lost in the data, the numbers providing a clarity that people never could.
I didn't realize I was working overtime until the office was completely dark except for the glow of my monitors. The silence was starting to grate on me. I called Evander to see if he wanted a drink, but he was busy hooking up with some girl he'd probably fuck and forget by morning. He had his own way of dealing with the weight of the day.
I called Victor instead. We went to the club around.