Magritte's eyes were still fixed on the screen, the financial projections flashing red as the news anchor's voice echoed like a death knell.
"...insiders report that the Duchess Corporation may have been involved in laundering foreign assets through shell companies linked to the North Shore Investment Ring..."
The room was silent save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the soft clicking of Jude's pen. Elias leaned forward in his chair, lips pressed tightly together.
He turned to Jude. "How bad is it?"
"Bad," Jude replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "This news didn't just leak it was released. Deliberately. The question isn't what they're saying. It's who wanted it said."
Elias looked over to Magritte, who was already on her feet, pulling a thick manila folder from her handbag. "This isn't a coincidence," she said coldly. "The documents Lewis sent me last week... I think we've been played."
She placed the folder on the glass table. Elias opened it. Inside were a series of financial transfers small, cleverly hidden, but pointing unmistakably to someone using Duchess accounts as a cover.
"They're trying to hang this on us," Elias muttered. "On *me*."
Magritte stepped closer, her voice lowering. "Elias, we need to get ahead of this. Find out who orchestrated the leak before they find something real to bury you with."
He studied her, and for a moment, the storm faded from his face. "Thank you. You could've run the moment this hit the news."
"I don't run," she said. "Especially not from you."
Their eyes lingered. Something unspoken tightened between them.
Jude cleared his throat loudly. "I'll... give you both a moment. I'll be in the control room coordinating with security."
The door clicked shut behind him.
"Do you trust me?" Magritte asked.
Elias stood, hands sliding into his pockets. "That's a dangerous question, Magritte. I barely trust myself right now."
She stepped in, closer. "Then let me prove it. Let me help you clean this mess up. Lewis and I already traced three of the shell companies they're linked to someone named Horace Vell."
Elias blinked. "Horace Vell died five years ago."
"No," Magritte said. "He disappeared five years ago. There's no record of a body, no obituary. Just a fire. And now he's back. Under aliases. Operating out of Prague."
Elias's jaw tightened. "Prague."
"What?"
"That's where the old Thorne family investment vault was buried. Before my father liquidated it."
She placed a hand gently on his chest. "There's a pattern here. Someone knows you're regaining memories. They're panicking. So they're framing you before you can remember what they've done."
For the first time, Elias felt a sharp pulse of fear. Not for himself. For Magritte.
"They'll come after you too," he said.
"I'm not afraid," she replied.
"You should be."
A pause. Then: "You're afraid for me?"
He nodded.
She leaned in, their foreheads touching.
"You're not the man they think you are," she whispered. "But you might be the man they fear the most."
They stayed there, breath mingling, until the phone rang.
Elias snapped back to the moment and answered. "Go."
Jude's voice was clipped. "Dexter is here. Valerie."
Magritte's expression cooled.
"She wants to see you. Urgently."
"Send her in," Elias said without hesitation.
The door opened, and Valerie entered with all the grace of a queen. Her auburn hair was perfectly coiled, her red dress too bold for mourning. But there was something else in her eyes panic barely concealed beneath pride.
"Darling," she said, ignoring Magritte entirely. "We need to talk."
Elias gestured for her to sit. "I assume you've seen the news."
"Yes. And I assume you know that this affects more than just your precious corporation. My father is in talks with several Eastern alliances. He's pulling funding."
"Then pull it," Elias said coolly.
Valerie's mask cracked. "You would dare risk our engagement? Our legacy?"
"There is no legacy," he said. "Not when it's built on blackmail and manipulation."
She stood. "I made you. I covered for you when you were nothing but a playboy heir with a drinking problem and a string of failed investments."
"And now you want to destroy me?"
Valerie stepped close, voice a hiss. "No. I want you to remember *who* you are. And who you belong to."
She turned on her heel and left without another word.
Elias sat back down, running a hand through his hair.
"She's not wrong," Magritte said quietly. "You do need to remember."
"I'm trying," he said. "It's like the memories are locked behind a wall, and every time I dream, the wall cracks just a little."
"What if I told you I found someone who could help you break that wall?"
He looked up. "Who?"
"An old friend. From the military days. Her name is Yara. She specializes in recovered trauma and memory imprinting. But Elias..." Magritte hesitated. "She's not cheap. Or clean."
"I'm already in the mud," Elias said. "Bring her in."
She nodded. "Tomorrow night. You'll meet her at the safe house."
Before she left, she looked back at him. "One last thing. Don't trust the man in the grey suit."
"What man?"
"The one who's always one room ahead of you."
Then she was gone.
Elias sat alone for a while, letting the silence swallow him. He remembered flashes waves, cold water, a voice calling his name, someone screaming. And always, the same shadowed figure watching from the docks. The man in grey.
Tomorrow, everything would begin to unravel.
And he would be ready.