The night after the boardroom revolt was quiet too quiet.
Elias stood before his bathroom mirror, shirtless, sweat running down his temples. He splashed cold water on his face and stared at the man looking back at him. The man had Thorne's eyes, Dime's caution, and now… something new. A gleam. The glint of a man who had tasted power and wasn't ready to let go.
There was a knock at the door.
Jude entered with his ever-present calm.
"You're trending in twelve countries," he said. "The investors want a statement. CNN's waiting. And Lewis says you've got twenty-four hours before the Feds start poking around."
Elias nodded. "Set up a press conference. Midnight. No questions. Just presence."
Jude hesitated. "There's something else. Magritte. We traced her last known movement."
"And?"
"She entered the Sovereign Hotel under a pseudonym. Left disguised as room service staff. She has help, and she's not running she's hunting."
Elias tightened his jaw. "Let her come. I'll be ready."
Elsewhere The Sovereign Hotel,Magritte sat on the edge of a king-size bed, wearing a silk robe, hair pinned with a silver clasp. A man approached from behind.
"Everything's in place," he said. "But you should know he's no longer the Dime we once played. He's changing."
"I know," Magritte whispered. "That's what makes him dangerous."
She looked down at the folded letter on the bed.
Inside: an old photograph of Elias as a boy standing beside a man whose face had been scratched out.
"He needs to remember," she muttered. "Before it's too late."
At 12:00 AM the Press Conference began at Draxon Headquarters.The crowd waited. Cameras rolled.
Elias walked onto the stage in a black suit, no tie, eyes locked on the flashing lights. No teleprompter. No notes.
"Three days ago, I was a man at war with his shadow. But tonight, I stand before you not as the man you remember but as the one you've forgotten."
The reporters froze. Phones buzzed. The weight of his voice cut through the room like glass.
"I am Elias Thorne."
He let the name hang.
"I was stolen. Rewritten. Framed and buried. But now? Now I *remember*."
He paused.
"And I'm taking everything back."
Later That Night Draxon Executive Penthouse. He stood by the window again. This time, not alone.
Magritte stepped out of the darkness behind him, gun in hand.
"No sudden moves," she whispered.
He didn't turn. "You won't shoot me."
Magritte's hand trembled.
"You remember, don't you?" he asked.
Her voice cracked. "Not everything. But enough to hate you. Enough to miss you."
He finally turned.
And then he kissed her.
It was not gentle.
It was violent with history, desperate with memory.
They collapsed together in the shadows of the penthouse, where love and betrayal often danced too close.
But outside that room chaos brewed.
A faction within Draxon wanted him gone.
The Feds were coming.
And the man from the scratched photo?
He was alive.
The sky above New York was an unkind shade of gray.
Rain streaked down the penthouse windows, blurring the city lights into a smear of gold and red. Elias stood in the aftermath of memory, barefoot on the marble floor, still feeling the tremor of Magritte's touch, her scent lingering like smoke.
But sleep would not come. Not tonight.
The fire had been lit.
And the storm was no longer knocking it was inside.
Elsewhere Draxon Corp, Sublevel B. A man walked briskly through the shadowed corridor beneath the main Draxon tower. His badge read "J. Mallory" but that wasn't his name. He reached a biometric scanner and paused.
"Welcome back, Dr. Carson," the scanner intoned.
Inside, monitors flickered. Files opened. One video played on loop, Elias Thorne, age twelve, standing in a medical chamber, wires protruding from his arms.
"Subject exhibits advanced cognitive acceleration. Emotional detachment progressing."
The man Dr. Carson typed rapidly.
INITIATING FALCON CODE, OPERATION RESET
The screen turned red.
Penthouse Balcony – 3:27 AM, Jude returned, drenched and wide-eyed.
"You're not going to like this."
Elias didn't flinch. "Try me."
Jude held up a tablet. It showed a still frame surveillance footage Elias being dragged down a corridor twenty-five years ago, his arms limp, eyes open.
"Your death was orchestrated. The shipwreck… was a cover."
Elias stared.
"And the man behind it?" Jude said. "He's alive. He's been living off Draxon's hidden subsidiaries. Underground research. Offshore accounts. Magritte was trying to lead you to him."
Elias leaned against the railing. "Then she was never just an affair."
"No," Jude said grimly. "She was your handler."
Flashback 25 Years Ago, A boy screamed in a cold chamber.
Wires. Needles. A woman's voice cooing in French.
"He's stronger than the others," said the woman. "Keep him sedated."
The screen flickered.
The boy became a man.
The man became a myth.
And the myth… returned.
Later Magritte's Safehouse, Magritte stared at the old watch Elias had worn as a child. It ticked once every hour a military relic. Inside the watch casing was a photo of Elias's mother.
She whispered to the photo: "You'd be so proud of him. Or so afraid."
Behind her, Lewis emerged from the shadows.
"You shouldn't have come back," he said.
"I didn't come for you," she replied coldly.
"No," Lewis said. "But you'll still bleed for what you did."
The silence between them was loaded.
Then Magritte stepped aside. "I'm not your enemy anymore."
"We'll see," Lewis replied, lowering his gun but not holstering it.
Morning Draxon Corp Boardroom, Elias entered to find Dexter, Landon Crick, and six board members already seated.
"Late, again," Dexter smirked.
Elias smiled. "Always worth the wait."
Crick leaned forward. "We have concerns."
"You always do," Elias said.
"This time," Dexter said, "your sudden reemergence, media declarations, and refusal to comply with the federal inquiry it puts the company at risk."
Elias looked each of them in the eye.
"Good. Let them come. Because if the government wants me they'll have to pry Draxon out of my cold, resurrected hands. "
There was silence.
Then a slow clap echoed from the back of the room.
A new voice.
"Well said," the man called.
All eyes turned.
It was him.
The ghost from the photo. The man behind the false death. The architect of Elias's stolen life.
He stepped forward in a dark gray suit, his smile a scalpel.
"Hello, son."