The First move
Adrian didn't sleep that night. The phone calls had ceased; the texts had stopped; when he was trying to reach his girlfriend,she was unable to reach and now was just him and the thoughts collaborating in the dim light of his penthouse, He idly traced the outline of the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the radiant city, normally alive and pulsing with energy, felt hollow.
After parting ways with Selene, Adrian had possibility to the graveyard of doubt. The city stretched beneath him like a vast puzzle, each illuminated window telling stories he was no longer a part of the City.
"A cycle that repeats every century," he murmured, echoing Selene's words to himself. It was almost absurd. How could such a concept even exist in the world? The very thought felt like a curse, tainting his logical foundation. Yet, there lingered the unmistakable truth: this was documented history, a reality verified by time itself.
This wasn't some dark folklore, some fairy tale made to scare children; this was history—his history. The Wolfes fell, the Lancasters rose, and, inexplicably, some force worked behind the scenes, paving the way for this relentless machination. The air in his penthouse felt dense, heavy. If he wanted to reclaim his legacy, he needed more than just faith; he needed proof. And more than that—he needed a strategy.
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Morning light seeped through the penthouse curtains, stirring him from an uneasy sleep. Each hour felt like sand slipping through clenched fingers, filling him with anxiety. He hastily dressed in a charcoal blazer over a crisp white shirt, the remnants of his last business meeting clinging stubbornly to him. Today, he would dig deeper than he ever had before.
Adrian found himself in an old section of the city, standing before a library that had seen better days. The facade, aged and scuffed, stood in stark contrast to the vibrant businesses surrounding it. Yet there was a sense of continuity, of quiet wisdom, emanating from within its stone walls. Like secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Upon entering, he was greeted by a familiar scent—a rich blend of aged parchment and dust. He walked through rows and rows of shelving, the light filtering through the expansive windows bathing the room in a golden hue. Elderly scholars occupied small wooden tables, the quiet sounds of shuffling paper melding into an almost sacred hush.
Approaching the front desk, he was met by an older man in wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes narrowed, studying Adrian's attire with skepticism.
"I need access to historical business records," Adrian said, slipping a crisp hundred-dollar bill across the polished surface. "Specifically, those related to Wolfe Enterprises and Lancaster International."
The librarian hesitated, the bill sitting atop a stack of unprocessed papers, his gaze shifting between the cash and the young man before him. "Follow me," he finally said, reluctantly pocketing the money.
The man led Adrian through a maze of shelves, each creaky floorboard telling stories of its own. As they arrived at a restricted section, the librarian retrieved a set of keys, their old metal glistening in the dim light. With a practiced ease, he unlocked a glass case and retrieved several worn files.
"Be careful with them," he cautioned, handing the fragile documents over with a certain reverence.
Adrian's heart raced as he settled down at a nearby table. He flipped through the delicate pages, revealing a landscape of historical drama that incited a swirling mix of anger and confusion within him. The deeper he delved, the more his unease grew.
The records told tales of takeovers, but it was far more sinister than mere corporate rivalry. There were whispers of vanishings, empty divisions—plans so intricate they felt like orchestrated sabotage. The Wolfes hadn't just lost their empires; they had been erased. Every move was calculated, as if invisible hands pulled the strings while the players remained unaware.
His fingers tightened around the edges of the pages, panic slowly morphing into clarity—this wasn't just business; it was orchestrated. Each entry bore witness to the deep-rooted nefarious practices handed down through generations. He knew he was on the brink of something vast, something potentially devastating.
His eyes landed on one document, its typeface almost worn away, making it challenging to read. It was a transcript... Moreof a court case from 1925. The ink was faded, but the words glimmered with significance. Victor Wolfe had filed an injunction against Henry Lancaster, claiming that his empire had been stolen through "means beyond logical comprehension." The case had been dismissed almost immediately, a derisive wave that seemed to echo through time.
But it was in the notes that Adrian found the name that would change everything: Reginald Thorne.
The name danced on his tongue, alien yet hauntingly familiar. Adrian had never heard of this man, but the more he read, the more the pieces started to align. Thorne was mentioned repeatedly, each time shadowed in secrecy. A "consultant" for Lancaster International here. An "advisor" to Julian Wolfe before his infamous downfall there. A trustee for accounts tied to the destruction of Wolfe Enterprises, awarded in the shadows of financial wreckage.
A man with no public profile, no traceable invitation to the life of the elite. But he was always there, lurking in the margins, appearing at the precise moment when a Wolfe was on the cusp of losing everything. It sent a cold shiver down Adrian's spine. He felt exposed, like a lace curtain flapping in the wind, vulnerable against a storm he couldn't yet comprehend.
With a quickened pulse, Adrian realized he had unearthed a thread, one that could unravel the whole tapestry of deceit woven by the Lancasters over generations. This was it—this Reginald Thorne was a key to understanding the cycle Selene had hinted at.
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Hours later, Adrian made his way to a quiet, upscale bar—a place where echoes of laughter were drowned in the smooth embrace of aged whiskey. He chose the far back corner, a safe haven where he could observe without drawing attention. His gaze flickered over the surrounding , carefully assessing it, and the sense of being under scrutiny that prickled at his skin
Tonight was about risk and reward—the stakes had moved higher than at any point in his life. If history were to repeat itself, someone was out there watching, waiting for his next misstep.
Then he saw him—a man clad in a charcoal suit, impeccably tailored, his hair slicked back in a way that suggested he had perfected this look over time. The man's gaze flickered toward Adrian and then quickly away. Adrian felt a familiar adrenaline surge. Too slow, he thought.
Rising from his seat, he moved with purpose toward the man, sliding into the seat across from him without waiting for an invitation. "You've been watching me for the last fifteen minutes," Adrian said, fixing the man with a steady, probing stare. "Let's not waste time."
For a fleeting moment, the stranger's expression reflected surprise before it return to calm. He swirled the drink in his glass, eyeing Adrian
"Bold of you to assume I even know who you are," he replied leisurely, but the undertone in his voice spoke of unsteady confidence.
Adrian leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them. "Reginald Thorne."