Luxury and lies

The towering skyline of Vanguard Heights loomed in the distance, its glass and steel structures reflecting the early morning light.

Unlike the chaotic sprawl of The Stacks, this was a world of the wealthy—the powerful.

Jack sat back in the taxi, watching the sights around him shift. He wiped his palms against his jeans—was he sweating more than usual?

Neon billboards faded into sleek, minimalist architecture. The streets were cleaner. The people walked with purpose, dressed in expensive suits or designer casuals.

This was where the elites lived. And now, somehow, so did he.

___________________________

The taxi pulled up to a private entrance, the Marbo Loft. The building was a sleek high-rise, its security reinforced with gated access points. A valet stepped forward, opening the door.

He took a deep breath, forcing a casual smile before stepping out. He wasn't used to places like this—places where people looked at you and immediately judged whether you belonged.

People judged you everywhere—but here, the stares lingered just a little too long.

"Welcome to Marbo Lofts, Mr. Vales," the receptionist greeted him, a well-dressed woman with an earpiece and a tablet in hand. "We've prepared everything as per your reservation."

Jack nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Appreciate it."

She motioned toward the entrance. "Your penthouse is on the top floor. Private elevator access. Everything has already been arranged as per your reservation."

Jack's brow twitched. Already?

"That fast, huh?"

Her smile didn't waver. "We pride ourselves in discretion and efficiency, Mr. Vales, now all that's left is security verification."

Right.

Jack followed her through the lobby, past glass walls that overlooked a small quaint garden, towards the reception desk. Everything about this place screamed money. More money than he would've ever hoped to see in a lifetime.

As they approached the desk, a security officer in a sleek black uniform straightened. His sharp gaze swept over Jack, before nodding slightly.

"Mr. Vales," the officer greeted. "For security verification, we'll need to register your biometrics."

Jack exhaled, nodding. "Let's get it over with."

The officer gestured tapped on the desk revealing a biometric scanner. "Please place your hand on the panel."

Jack stepped forward, pressing his palm against the cool glass surface. A soft hum vibrated beneath his fingertips as the system scanned him.

"Processing…" The scanner's voice was smooth, artificial. A moment later, a soft beep followed.

"Handprint confirmed. Now, retinal scan," the officer instructed.

Jack barely concealed a sigh as a slim scanner extended from the wall next to the desk. He leaned in, staring into the faint red light. Another beep.

"Retinal scan confirmed."

The officer glanced at the screen before continuing. "Lastly, voice recognition. State your full name."

"Jack Vales."

A final chime rang out as the system processed his voiceprint.

"Security verification complete," the AI intoned. "Welcome, Mr. Vales."

Jack pulled his hand back, staring at the security officer who gave him a professional nod.

"You're all set. Your penthouse is now fully configured to your biometrics, allowing only authorized access."

Jack glanced at the receptionist. "That's it?"

She smiled, gesturing toward the private elevator. "That's it. You now have full control over your residence."

Jack nodded slowly, walking toward the lift.

The elevator doors slid open silently, revealing a private lift—no buttons. Just a single biometric scanner.

Jack placed his hand on the scanner. A soft beep, then.

"Welcome, Mr. Vales."

The elevator rose smoothly, no jolt, no sound. Just the faint hum of high-end engineering.

Seconds later, the doors opened to his new home.

___________________________

Jack stepped into the penthouse—and froze. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the room, the city skyline glittering beyond. The sheer size of the space made his old apartment feel like a closet.

A minimalist living area occupied the center, with a sunken lounge, an expensive leather couch, and a holographic display system mounted across the wall. A sleek, modern kitchen lined the far wall, equipped with appliances Jack didn't even recognize.

Further inside, an expansive master bedroom took up an entire section of the loft. A king-sized bed, walk-in closet, and a bathroom that looked more like a high-end spa.

Jack dropped his bag near the couch, running a hand through his hair. This was his?

He exhaled, walking toward the bedroom. The weight of everything—the money, the unknown benefactor, the blackouts—settled in his chest.

___________________________

Jack stepped into the bathroom, letting the cool tile ground him. He turned the shower on, steam quickly filling the space.

For the second time that morning, he let the scalding water wash over him.

His mind replayed the last 48 hours again. The gunfight. The assassins. The voices in his head.

Am I even making my own choices anymore?

He pushed the thought aside. For now, he needed to focus.

Jack shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. As he walked back into the bedroom, a realization hit him—

He didn't have any damn clothes.

His old ones were still damp, and everything else he owned was back at his old apartment—an apartment he couldn't risk going back to.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his wet hair.

"Well, shit."

First order of business? Clothes.

Walking to the living room, he pulled out the laptop and browsed through several online stores. He glanced at the total—then clicked order.

There was a time he wouldn't even spend this much on rent—let alone clothes. But if he was going to live in luxury, he had to look the part.

Standing up he walked to the side bar, picking up a wine bottle, he poured himself a glass, making a toast to the air. "To losing my damn mind."

Chuckling slightly, he sat on the stool, as he slowly drained the glasses content while waiting for his delivery.

Moments later, the intercom beeped. Jack tapped the side bar, and a voice came through. "There's a delivery for you downstairs, Mr. Vales."

"Will be down in a minute." He replied walking to the bedroom, putting on the slightly damp trouser, he walked into the elevator.

Ding.

Jack stepped into the elevator, adjusting the damp fabric of his trousers as he leaned against the wall. The ride down was silent, the soft hum of the high-speed lift barely noticeable.

Luxury at its finest, he mused.

The doors slid open to the pristine lobby, the scent of polished wood and fresh-cut flowers filling the air.

The receptionist, a sharp-dressed woman with an earpiece, glanced up from her desk as he approached.

"Mr. Vales," she greeted smoothly. "Your delivery has arrived."

Jack nodded. "Where is it?"

She gestured toward a sleek, oakwood biometric-secured cabinet built seamlessly into the wall near the reception desk. It was one of those high-end secure drop-off systems, designed for private and automated deliveries.

A luxury-brand clothing bag sat inside a transparent compartment, its matte black finish embossed with a silver emblem—subtle, expensive, and just flashy enough to scream exclusive.

Jack raised an eyebrow. A bit much for just clothes.

The receptionist tapped her terminal, prompting the cabinet's biometric scanner to activate. "Just place your hand on the pad," she instructed.

Jack complied, resting his thumb against the cool glass surface. A soft beep followed, and the cabinet unlocked with a quiet hiss, the door retracting smoothly.

"Efficient," he muttered, grabbing the bag. The material was heavier than expected—definitely premium.

The receptionist offered a polite smile. "Would you like assistance bringing it up?"

Jack shook his head. "Not to worry, I got it."

He turned on his heel, making his way back toward the elevator.

As the doors slid shut behind him, he exhaled.

Expensive clothes. A penthouse. A bank account that didn't make sense.

Luxury and lies. Hell of a combination.

Jack stepped back into the penthouse, the weight of the shopping bag heavier than expected.

He dropped the bag onto the couch and pulled out a simple outfit—a black golf polo and a tailored pair of shorts.

Sliding the polo over his head, he ran a hand through his damp hair, smoothing it down. The fit was perfect, comfortable.

Deftly picking up a a wrist watch, from the bag he wore it on his hand.

While admiring himself in the mirror, his stomach growled. Turning his attention to food.

Jack glanced at the sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen. Decked out with stainless steel appliances. And a fully stocked fridge. Yet, he hadn't even thought about food.

He let out a dry chuckle. "And I was worried about clothes first."

Shaking his head, he moved toward the kitchen.