The city pulsed with an energy that Elias hadn't felt in a long time.
He rode alone in the back of a matte-black town car, the windows slightly fogged by the misty night. Jude sat up front, quiet, but watchful his usual calm barely masking his anxiety.
"Magritte Thorne," Elias repeated, staring at the raindrops. "Why didn't I know she existed?"
"She was scrubbed," Jude replied without looking back. "After the yacht incident... all records of her involvement were deleted. Even I didn't know she was related to you."
"She *was* Draxon's legal advisor before the collapse of the offshore wing," Elias muttered. "Then she vanished."
Jude turned slightly. "If she orchestrated your disappearance, Elias... she may know more than anyone about your past and your future."
Elias closed his eyes.
"She might also know... why I was the only one not supposed to return."
Elsewhere a Hidden Mansion in Greenwich
Magritte stood before a massive oil painting one of the few remaining portraits of the original Draxon family.
She stared at the man in the middle: Arthur Thorne, Elias's father.
Her brother.
"You always said Elias would ruin everything," she murmured. "But you didn't account for his return."
Behind her, a man waited silently.
A figure with a scarred neck and deep-set eyes.
"Should I initiate contact?" he asked.
Magritte turned.
"Not yet," she said. "Let him believe he's in control. Let him rise. And when he reaches the summit... we'll pull the earth from beneath his feet."
"What if he remembers?"
She smiled, slow and poisonous.
"He already has. That's the point."
The morning sun broke through gray clouds as Elias stepped back into the upper chamber of Draxon Tower.
He could feel it in the walls: the tension, the resistance, the unspoken challenge.
Executives passed him in silence.
Jude followed close behind.
"We've sealed the Pavilion footage, encrypted the board files, and traced the financial leak through the West Zurich account."
"Who was behind it?"
Jude hesitated.
"…Valerie's private counsel. Under Magritte's legal firm."
Elias stopped walking.
"That confirms it."
"What now?" Jude asked.
Elias's jaw flexed.
"We bleed them."
The news hit before lunch.
Duchess Corp's Subdivision Under Investigation for International Tax Fraud, Valerie Dexter's Alleged Involvement Under Scrutiny. Anonymous Insider Triggers Financial Firestorm. The media swarmed.
Stocks plummeted.
Duchess Corporation's legal arm began hemorrhaging clients.
And Valerie Dexter?
She disappeared from the public eye.
The mansion's power was cut.
Valerie lit a candle, standing alone in her private study, surrounded by centuries of inherited wealth.
Then came a knock.
She spun, heart pounding.
The door creaked open.
Elias entered.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
She tried to smile.
"Come to gloat?"
"No," Elias said, walking toward her. "I came to tell you a story."
He stopped in front of her.
"There was a woman," he said, "who climbed into the tower of a great empire. She loved the view so much, she forgot the walls were made of glass."
Valerie's smile faded.
"Whatever you think you've won"
Elias raised a hand.
"I'm not here to argue. I'm here to warn you. I'm not your enemy yet. But if you work with her again if you touch my company, or my people I will not ruin you."
He leaned close.
"I will erase you."
Then he left her in the candlelight, trembling.
Back in Greenwich, Magritte opened a leather-bound file.
A photograph of Elias as a child. A map of the yacht's last known coordinates. A document marked Project Helix.
Her fingers ran across the pages.
"He wasn't supposed to survive," she whispered.
Behind her, the scarred man asked, "Do we alert the others?"
"Not yet," she said. "Let the prince claim his throne. Let him believe he's free."
She looked out the window.
"When the time comes, I'll show him what his bloodline truly bought."
The morning sunlight filtered through the glass-paneled windows of the Draxon penthouse like warm silk, casting golden highlights on the floor. Mr. Dime still publicly known as Elias Thorne stood in silence, a steaming cup of black coffee in his hand, gazing out over the city that had once looked down on him.
He had played their game. And now, the pieces were his.
Behind him, the soft scuff of footsteps pulled him from thought.
"You're up early," came a voice. It was Saira Malik, his newly appointed strategy advisor Pakistani-American, mid-thirties, and sharper than a diamond blade. She was an unexpected hire, recommended by Jude after Dime insisted he wanted people who didn't come from the old boys' club.
"I haven't slept yet," Dime replied, voice quiet but edged. "Trouble with the Westmont branch. Someone's bleeding cash."
Saira came closer, crossing her arms. "It's not someone. It's intentional. The fund movement pattern is deliberate. I traced it to a shell company registered in Barbados."
"Connected to…?"
"Dexter," she said.
Dime let out a bitter breath. "Of course."
Just then, Jude entered, tablet in hand. "Sir, there's another issue. Valerie is in the lobby."
Dime turned slowly, his face unreadable. "Why?"
"She says she wants to talk. Privately."
Saira raised an eyebrow. "The same Valerie who ghosted after the affair scandal broke?"
"I never touched her," Dime muttered, voice low.
"No one said you did," Saira replied gently. "But she knows your power now. People always return when they think the throne's still warm."
Dime placed his coffee down. "Send her up."
Valerie Dexter stepped into the room like a woman trained to rule. Her red wrap dress shimmered against her caramel skin, and her hair was pinned perfectly. She was stunning but so were landmines.
"Elias," she said softly, her voice carrying memories and motives in equal measure.
Dime remained where he stood. "Valerie."
She walked closer, her heels clicking like a countdown. "I didn't know what they'd do. I never meant for the photo leak to happen. I didn't even know Lewis was recording."
Dime's jaw tightened. "And now that I'm not dead, you're here for closure? Forgiveness?"
"No," she whispered. "I'm here because I still love you. And I think you do too."
That hit deeper than he expected. A flash of something real flickered in her eyes but Dime had learned the difference between remorse and manipulation.
"I loved a man who never got to live his truth," she said, stepping even closer. "I loved Elias Thorne before he drowned. But I don't know who you are now."
Dime looked into her eyes and saw the war between truth and temptation. Then he turned away.
"I'm the man who buried him," he said. "Now leave."
That afternoon, Dime met with Saira again in the war room an office redesigned to include data walls, strategy maps, and confidential dossiers. This was where empires were rebuilt.
"There's something else," she said. "A new player. Code name: Magritte. She's moving through the European sector like a ghost."
He turned. "What's her game?"
"No one knows," said Saira. "But she doesn't play for one side. She's brokered three mergers and dissolved two companies without lifting a single pen herself."
A beat of silence passed.
"I want her found," Dime said. "And I want to know why she's circling Draxon."
Saira hesitated. "There's more. She's already made contact. With Lewis."
Dime's fingers clenched. "Get me everything. And make sure Jude scrubs the European network."
Later that night, he stepped out into the city alone, no security, no entourage just a man in a tailored black coat and gloves, seeking air to think.
At a quiet rooftop bar in Brooklyn, he sat at the edge of the terrace, sipping whiskey. A woman with dark locs, a copper nose ring, and eyes like midnight took the stool beside him.
"You're Elias Thorne," she said.
Dime didn't flinch. "And you are?"
She smiled. "Call me Nyasha. I'm a poet. You needed a poem tonight."
He looked at her, skeptical but intrigued.
Nyasha pulled out a small leather-bound book and flipped to a page. "This one's called King Without a Crown."
She read, They buried you in linen and silence,Not knowing you'd wake in steel and smoke, You wear their empire like borrowed skin,But your fire was never theirs to choke.
Dime stared, stunned. "Did you… write that?"
"I dreamed it," she said, closing the book. "Before I ever saw your face."
He didn't know what pulled him in her voice, the words, or the strange calm she brought. But he stayed there beside her until the stars bled out of the sky.
"Thank you," he said.
"For what?"
"For reminding me I'm still human."
But the peace didn't last. By morning, his encrypted phone vibrated with a single word message: "Warehouse. Now."
He raced across town. The warehouse was near the dockyards. When he arrived, Saira was already there, flanked by two guards.
Inside, crates had been opened documents, hard drives, servers.
"We found them," she said. "Everything about your replacement in the company. The board was planning to legally declare Elias Thorne dead. Crick was to become interim CEO."
"And when I came back?"
"They planned to call you an imposter."
Dime laughed once cold and humorless. "Then we burn their playbook."
That night, Valerie sent another message.
"Meet me at the Rosevale Garden. I have something to show you."
He went.
She was there, standing under a weeping willow, holding a photo. When he reached her, she handed it to him.
It was a picture of a child. His eyes.
Dime's world spun.
"This is your son," she said.
The silence was thunder.