Forced Into the Shadows

The Roots of Destruction

Adrian Wolfe had always perceived himself as invincible. Over the years, he had meticulously built an empire, climbing the ranks of the financial world like a titan, stepping over others to carve out his own legacy. He was unshakeable. At least, that was the illusion. In the turbulent hustle of high finance, he had overlooked the shadows lurking in the corners of his life—until they swept in like a tidal wave, drowned him, and wiped away everything he held dear.

Now, staring into the remnants of his penthouse, stripped shelves and bare walls that had once housed sumptuous art and expensive furnishings, he felt more like a ghost of his former self than any kind of titan. The city sprawled beneath him, a vast sea of glass and steel, indifferent to his fall from grace. He could picture the bank executives patting each other on the back, their laughter ringing in his ears. They had him exactly where they wanted him, twitching like a puppet with its strings severed. But they didn't realize that the most dangerous puppet is the one who refuses to be discarded.

Adrian Wolfe was still alive.

And as long as he breathed, he would find the truth.but for that He needed a plan. They wanted him out of the picture—erased. But he wasn't going down without a fight.

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Rock Bottom

By morning, he was gone.

He left the penthouse before the legal teams arrived, slipping into the underground parking lot where his last remaining possession awaited—a sleek black car registered under a name that wasn't his. A backup plan, something he had arranged years ago and never thought he'd use.

He drove aimlessly at first, letting the city morphing around him into a blur of neon lights and shadows from the glow of street lamps. Each blink of a traffic light brought fresh thoughts of everything . he'd lost—his fiancée, his empire.For the first time in years, there were no calls, no meetings, no assistants scrambling to confirm his schedule.

No one wanted anything from him anymore.

By noon, he arrived at the only place left—an old bar on the outskirts of the city. Not one of his usual establishments. This was a place he had only visited once pocked with the scars of the decades that had rung it hollow. It wasn't one of his regular haunts, where business deals were brokered over top-shelf bottles and club-level cigar lounges. Instead, this was a place where people came to drown their sorrows and

bury their pasts. Many years ago, when he had met a man who dealt in secrets.

and right now, secrets were all Adrian had left to trade.

As Adrian stepped inside, he immediately felt the weight of judgment from the scattered patrons.

They looked at him with wary eyes, his sharp suit and disheveled appearance betraying the chaos lurking beneath his skin.

But he pressed forward, focused on the single figure seated in the corner—a man full of secrets, capable of unearthing buried lives in exchange for a price. Marcus Hale a broker of information, the kind of man who could unearth the pasts people buried and sell them to the highest bidder. A ghost of the underground, untouched by corporations and governments alike

Marcus Hale didn't look up as Adrian approached, his fingers ghosting over the rim of his glass. When Adrian dropped heavily into the seat across from him, Hale merely chuckled. "Well, well. If it isn't the great Adrian Wolfe. Who could have imagined I'd see you here, a hungry dog with no bone in sight?"

"Cut the pleasantries, Hale. I need information," Adrian replied, his voice low and cold.

"Oh, didn't you hear? Everyone needs something. I'm surprised you came to me instead of one of your high-and-mighty pals. You must be desperate," Hale grinned.

Adrian slid a USB drive across the table, the spark of desperation igniting into a fierce resolve. "Last of my personal financial records. Worth millions to the right people."

"Interesting gambit for a man washed up. You got a death wish, Wolfe? What's your endgame?" Hale countered, raising a brow.

"I need to know who destroyed me. I need to know how."

The humor faded from Hale's face. After a tense silence that stretched longer than Adrian preferred, Hale leaned in, his voice low. "You're not going to like the answer, but you'll want to hear it."

"Try me," Adrian spat, his hands clenched into fists on the table.

"This…" Hale paused, hovering on his next words like they were a dormant bomb. "This wasn't just business. It was something else. Something older."

A dark thrill climbed Adrian's spineas the implications of Hale's words washed over him. The unsettling notion of an unseen game, extending beyond mere finance, sounded like the whispered curses of his ancestors drifting back through time. The flickering aura of hidden truths bore down on him like a tangible weight.

"Older?" he echoed, skepticism lacing his voice.

Hale nodded, his grin replaced with a somber expression. He retrieved a worn envelope from his jacket and slid it across the table. Adrian felt the chill of dread wash over him as he picked it up and opened it. Inside, an aged black-and-white photograph fell into his palm. It captured a man standing tall, a mirror image of Adrian himself, captured in an era long gone. The date scrawled across the back sent icy tremors through his core—1924.

"Who is this?" Adrian asked, a whisper of disbelief escaping his lips.

"Victor Wolfe," Hale replied, his voice grave. "Billionaire and financier, just like you. Everything he had, stripped away overnight. His wealth, allies, and even his fiancée were taken after a series of betrayals. They say he died penniless, a shadow of his former self. And ever since then, his name's been cursed."

"You can't be serious," Adrian said, feeling the words slip away like sand through his fingers. "You expect me to believe something so absurd?"

"Call it folklore or history, but the evidence is there. People around him whispered that his downfall wasn't merely due to financial mismanagement. His enemies were manipulating him—just as yours seem to be doing now." Hale leaned back, analyzing Adrian's reaction. "History repeats itself, Wolfe.

The gravity of Hale's words struck him. This was no social jab but an accusation echoing through time. The tragic fate of Victor Wolfe was a ghostly hand gripping Adrian's throat, squeezing tighter every moment. The ideas spiraled in his head, colliding with the remnants of his old life—the success, the accolades, everything stripped away. The very thought sickened him.

"I refuse to be another pawn in this game," he said, voice low and resolute. "What do I need to do?"

Hale's smirk returned, this time with an unsettling edge. "You'll need to work quickly. Those who pulled the strings against Victor are likely lurking even now, intent on burying the Wolfe name once and for all.

Adrian's heart pounded as he processed Hale's words. A quest. A diversion from the suffocating pain of betrayal and loss.

"Where do I start?" he pressed, feeling a purpose ignite within.

"This turned up in a private auction recently. Thought you might find it interesting."Hale replied

Adrian's grip tightened around the photograph of Victor Wolfe. Time was now his greatest asset, and he needed to hone it into a weapon.

After acquiring the contact information, Adrian exited the bar, plunging into the noise of the city once again, but this time he felt invigorated. His anger transformed into a determination fueled by the desire tocontrol his destiny.