"Today, I calculated the average life expectancy of my deceased relatives. It's roughly seventy years. My grandfather lived to be a hundred and ten; he was the outlier that ruined the statistics. This means that in a trouble-free life, I have at most twenty-five years left. Right at that moment, my mother's voice echoed in my mind: 'You leave everything to the last day, son.' This time, I decided not to."
CHAPTER 1: A STRANGER AT THE SUMMIT
The heavy, oak-scented air of the boardroom was laced with the aroma of expensive perfumes and freshly brewed coffee. The clamor of the city outside was stifled behind the thick windows of the 42nd floor, unable to breach the sterile silence within. Mehmet sat near the head of the table, as rigid and self-assured as a statue in his perfectly tailored Italian suit.
There were five people in the room. His gaze involuntarily shifted to Hülya, seated to his right. Once, Hülya had been the most important person in this office to Mehmet. But now, at this polished table, she was nothing more than a file, a figure, or a void to be acknowledged. The warmth he used to see in her eyes was gone, replaced by a distant, guarded respect. Mehmet no longer felt her presence in his soul; she was merely an object in the room.
Beside Hülya sat Murat. There was a time when they were inseparable. The dreams they built, the secrets they shared at that small corner shop after work—before they had earned the right to board this plaza's elevators—felt a lifetime away. Murat avoided Mehmet's gaze now, focusing intently on his tablet. To Mehmet, Murat was no longer an old friend; he was simply a subordinate to be managed.
The General Manager entered and delivered the long-awaited sentence, freezing the air in the room: "Our new Department Director is Mehmet."
An icy silence descended. Hülya pressed her lips together and gave a slight nod; it was less a congratulation and more an acceptance of reality. Murat forced a smile. "Congratulations, Mehmet," he said, his voice completely devoid of its old, friendly resonance. Mehmet, however, rose from his seat with seamless composure. He had made it.
After a final, dispassionate glance at those remaining at the table, Mehmet buttoned his jacket and stepped out of the boardroom. As he walked through the expansive, glass-partitioned corridors, his confidence echoed in every stride. Employees looked up from their desks, some with genuine admiration and others with forced courtesy. He passed through the murmurs of "Congratulations, Mr. Mehmet" with a slight nod. By the time he reached the elevators at the end of the hall, he had accepted dozens of praises as if they were a natural payment he was owed.
The silver elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. As the cabin glided down in silence, he looked at his reflection in the mirror; everything was exactly as he wanted it. Walking across the vast marble floor of the lobby toward the parking garage, his phone vibrated. Without slowing his pace, he pulled it from his pocket. The screen lit up with a message from an anonymous code:
"Time is up. Statistics do not lie. Exactly 365 days—8,760 hours—have passed. It is time to keep the promise you made to your mother; do not leave anything to the last day. The notebook is waiting for you right where you left it."
Mehmet's stride faltered for a split second. As the automatic doors of the lobby slid open, the evening chill hit his face, but the only thing he felt was the icy unease radiating from the message. His breath hitched. He hurried toward his car in the garage.
When he opened the door to his house, he was greeted by nothing but pitch darkness. A faint scuffing sound came from the kitchen. Mehmet paused, tensing for a moment before relaxing.
"It must be Marcus," he thought.
He had adopted Marcus only a few weeks ago. Mehmet felt the strange weight of sharing a roof with this silent creature. "I wonder if he's adjusted to his new home yet?" he mused. He knew Marcus was watching him from somewhere in the dark, those yellow eyes tracking his every move. The cat had not yet truly approached him, maintaining a quiet distance between them.
Without turning on the lights, he went into his study. From the back of the bottom shelf of the library, he pulled out that black, leather-bound notebook. He looked at the date on the cover; it was the day Selim had disappeared and Mehmet had officially begun his new life. He slumped into his chair and, with trembling hands, opened the cover.
He turned the page.