The room grew colder not from the temperature, but from the idea Magritte had unleashed.
The Vektor Alliance, A hush-hush syndicate of world conglomerates, rumored to be forming a sovereign financial system independent of global currencies. If Draxon could align itself with even one Vektor backer, Elias would gain not just money, but influence. Untouchable influence.
Elias folded his arms. "Who do you know?"
Magritte's fingers moved like a pianist across her keyboard. "A man named Albrecht Fane. Ex-mercenary turned financial advisor. He was instrumental in setting up the offshore logistics for the Vektor prototype. He's a ghost now. No contact in five years. But I tracked him."
"To where?"
She tapped the screen. A red dot pulsed on a map. "Oslo. He runs a private think tank. No media. No funding trails. The only reason we know he's alive is because one of his aliases renewed a plane license last spring."
Lewis gave a low whistle. "That's deep."
Elias paced the room. "If I fly to Oslo, we risk exposure. But if I don't, we risk being wiped out."
"You won't go," Magritte said.
Elias stopped.
"I'll go," she continued. "He trusts women more than men especially ones that resemble ghosts."
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Ghosts?"
"Long story."
Jude, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "While she's chasing Vektor, what's our defense plan against Valerie?"
Elias cracked a smile. "We give her exactly what she wants."
"What?"
"Let her leak the footage. We'll pre-leak our own version cut and edited, timed with a fabricated 'whistleblower' claiming internal corruption under Valerie's reign. Frame it as a desperate move from the old guard."
Lewis nodded slowly. "Use their fire to light our fuse."
"Exactly."
"And what about the Duchess rep?" Jude asked. "You never clarified what really happened that night."
"I don't remember it," Elias said honestly. "But I'm starting to."
There was a pause. Everyone looked at him.
"There was a man," he continued. "Before I passed out. Tall. Blurred voice. Mentioned something about 'correcting the timeline.' He used that phrase. And there was a symbol on his glove. A white chess piece. A rook."
Magritte's eyes narrowed. "That's not a coincidence."
Lewis shifted. "You saying this goes beyond corporate sabotage?"
Elias looked them all in the eye. "I think this goes beyond reality."
Later that night, after the crisis room dimmed and Lewis left to contact an underground security firm, Elias sat alone in the dim red glow of the emergency light.
Jude approached him quietly. "I didn't want to say this in front of the others," he said. "But I got a letter."
Elias looked up.
"It was hand-delivered. No stamp. No signature. Just the Draxon sigil pressed in wax."
He handed it to Elias.
Elias unfolded the letter slowly. Inside, a single line:
"We know you're not Elias. But we're watching how you play."
The words on the page didn't just shake Elias they ignited something.
"We know you're not Elias."
It was confirmation. A threat wrapped in acknowledgment.
Someone knew. Someone was watching.
And someone was waiting.
He folded the letter, slid it into the inner pocket of his blazer, and stood up.
"Jude," he said quietly, "don't tell anyone else about this. Not even Lewis."
Jude hesitated. "You sure?"
"I need to control the pace of information. If people start treating me like a decoy, the chessboard changes. And we're too close."
Jude gave a small nod and exited.
Elias looked around the darkened boardroom, then walked to the window. The city was spread out before him like a vein map of ambition every light a power broker, every skyscraper a kingdom.
He wasn't Elias Thorne.
But they didn't know who he was now.
Not really.
Not yet.
And that was his greatest weapon.
The Next Morning – Draxon West Annex, Lewis was already there when Elias arrived. He stood at the security doors, flanked by two suited men who looked like they chewed glass for breakfast.
"New hires?" Elias asked, gesturing toward them.
"Ex-Blackwatch," Lewis replied. "Silent, deadly, and allergic to small talk. They'll follow you everywhere from now on."
Elias didn't argue. Trust was thinning by the hour, and the betrayal waiting behind every corner was starting to feel inevitable.
"Any update on Magritte?"
"She made it to Oslo. Fane is hosting a silent auction tonight black suits only, invitations coded into private bank chipsets. She's working her angle."
They walked into the Annex's inner atrium. It was supposed to be a zen zone open air, trickling water walls, sand garden in the middle. But today, a crowd had gathered. Employees clustered around a large projection screen, whispering.
"Play it again," someone said.
Elias pushed forward, watching.
Video footage, Grainy, time-stamped. A hotel hallway.
A woman his frame, his clothes. Then another figure.
The Duchess representative, She stumbles out of a room. Elias walks behind her.
But the footage was edited.
A voiceover played over it. "Sources confirm Mr. Thorne was involved in misconduct against protocol jeopardizing Draxon's contract with Duchess Corp."
The crowd gasped.
"Turn it off," Elias said sharply. The screen went dark.
People turned, startled. Some made eye contact. Most looked away.
Jude ran up. "It hit the press this morning. Not major outlets, but underground blogs and financial leak sites."
Lewis sighed. "We're not dealing with amateurs."
Elias didn't flinch. "Good."
"Good?" Lewis echoed.
"Yes. We just made the scandal public before they could."
He looked toward the elevator. "Come. There's someone we need to visit."
The Private Prison – Edge of the City, "Why are we here?" Lewis asked as the armored car pulled through the final security gate.
"To remind someone who the real king is."
The cellblock buzzed with fluorescent light and low moans of long-term inmates. One guard nodded to Elias. "He's in Cell 47."
They stopped outside. Elias stepped in alone.
Sitting on the bench, bound by a light titanium brace and chewing sunflower seeds with ease, was Conrad Vance former Draxon board member. Publicly ousted for insider trading. Privately imprisoned by Elias's design.
"Look who it is," Conrad said, smirking. "The prince who plays king."
"I have a proposition," Elias said.
"Oh? What could you possibly offer me that's better than my view of concrete and remorse?"
"Your revenge."
That silenced him.
"I know Valerie had a hand in your setup," Elias continued. "I know Landon ran the numbers. I know Dexter blocked your parole. I also know you used to run the offshore fund that Magritte's tracing."
"You're fishing."
"I'm offering war."
Conrad stood. "And what do I get?"
"Pardon. Clean name. And your own private channel to the Vektor syndicate assuming you help me break into it."
Conrad grinned. "You're dangerous now, aren't you?"
"I'm becoming Elias Thorne."
Conrad extended a hand. "Then let's make hell watch."
Later That Night – Elias's Apartment, The storm outside lashed the windows. Rain swept across the city like vengeful hands. Elias sat at his desk, reviewing encrypted files Magritte had sent from Oslo.
One was a list. Names. Coordinates. Contributions.
Albrecht Fane – Founder of Vault Omega
Assets: \$4.2 Billion
Status: Recruiting
Another name popped at the bottom.
Magritte Lyon – Confirmed contact. Inbound leverage: CODE 7.
He froze.
She hadn't told him she was being watched too.
The chessboard was larger than he thought.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: "Checkmate's next move is silence. Sleep lightly, Elias."
He looked out the window.
Below, a black car waited.