price of the answer

Adrian held the stranger's gaze, his fingers tightening around his glass. The name Reginald Thorne had struck a nerve, and that was all the confirmation he needed. You are not him but you know something about him tell me.

Who is he?" Adrian repeated, his voice calm but insistent. "And why does he appear every time a Wolfe empire collapses?"

The man in the charcoal suit leaned back, swirling his drink before taking a slow sip. He studied Adrian as if measuring his worth before finally

The man wiped his mouth with a napkin, his demeanor shifting just slightly. "You're asking the right question, Mr. Wolfe. But the real question is—are you ready for the answer?"

There it was—the thrill mixed with the gravity of the unknown. Adrian felt the world contract to this singular moment, the tension just beyond the bar's polished windows. "I have no time for riddles," he shot back. "Every moment you which delay me only benefits the Lancasters."

The man's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his cold eyes. "Oh, but this isn't just about time, is it? It's about understanding the dance we're both a part of..."

At that moment, the bar faded into the background. Adrian could feel the weight of history pressing in on him, the chase that had endured through generations culminating in a simple exchange between two men—one clutching onto a legacy, the other being a part of its erosion. Adrian fought to keep his expression neutral.

"Tell me how you fit into this," Adrian urged. "And I might just spare you.

The man leaned forward, intrigue flashing in his eyes as like he didn't take threat it all and said, "You think you're ready to dissect the layers , Mr. Wolfe? With your understanding of your family's past. Are you prepared to confront the truth, no matter how bad?"

Adrian's heart raced as he silently weighed his options. Was he truly ready to peel back the layers, to unveil not only the machinations against the Wolfes but also the dark corners of his family legacy?

"What do you know?" he replied, urgency leaking into his tone. "Tell me everything you know about Reginald Thorne, about the Lancasters, and their schemes."

A glimmer of satisfaction flickered in the stranger's eyes, as if Adrian had unwittingly stepped into a treacherous game. "Very well, Mr. Wolfe. But understand, knowledge has its price." He leaned back.

"What do you want?" Adrian pressed, his hands balling into tight fists .

I would tell you later Mr wolf. When I needed. What your thoughts about throne, nothing."Thorne understood the patterns, the rituals; he knew the Wolfes would inevitably rise only to fall. It wasn't just fate—it was a self-fulfilling prophecy orchestrated through decades, carefully nurtured by those willing to play the long game. He found ways to manipulate the market, to pit families against one another while ensuring Lancaster's won," the man explained.

Adrian could hardly breathe and feel the jagged edges of historical resentments slicing deeper into his psyche. This man—this Reginald Thorne—was the architect of generations of trauma. This was a familial reckoning.

"Is Thorne still alive?" Adrian asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

The man laughed, a sound devoid of real humor. "That's another layer to the intrigue, isn't it? His disappearance is as enigmatic as his involvement in the downfall of the Wolfe family. Many believe he retired quietly, safe in the shadows."

Adrian's mind raced, thoughts colliding chaotically. This was his first lead, a pathway illuminated in the moldy shadows of history. Yet, every revelation seemed to envelop him in an increasing sense of foreboding.

"Then I need to find him," he determined vocalizing the fervor that had ignited within him.

The man across the table regarded him with a cool detachment. "And if you do find Thorne, are you truly prepared for the truth? To face a revelation that can shake the very foundations of your understanding?, it's best left buried."

Adrian bristled at the notion. "Nothing is worth obscuring, especially when it comes to those who have wronged my family. I refuse to be a pawn in someone else's game."

"Then perhaps you should question whether the player is even worthy of the game," the man replied cryptically, swirling his drink once more, the ice clinking against the glass in a haunting rhythm, resembling the ticking clock of another century of cyclical fate.

Adrian's resolve solidified in the electric tense air between them. The encounter felt fated; it was the upwards spiral into a game he had no intention of losing. If he would reclaim his legacy and break the cycle, he would have to prepare himself for the windfall of truths—each one sharper than glass but ultimately necessary to wield.

"I'll find Reginald Thorne," Adrian declared assertively, "and I will unravel this orchestrated deception—once and for all."

Reginald Thorne is not someone you find," the man said, his tone amused. "He finds you—when it's already too late."

Adrian's jaw tensed. "Then I suppose I'm ahead of schedule."

The man smirked, a knowing light flickering within his gaze. "Just remember, Mr. Wolfe, every answer leads to another question. And sometimes it's the questions that lead you to ruin."

The man's smirk faded. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a black card with no name, no logo—only an address embossed in silver.

"You want answers, Mr. Wolfe? Then come here. Midnight."

Who am I meeting?" Adrian asked, looking up.

But the man was already standing, buttoning his suit jacket. "A ghost."

Then, without another word, he walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit bar like he had never been there at all.

Adrian took the card, eyes scanning the address. It wasn't far, but something about it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Adrian remained seated for a few more moments, a storm brewing within him. He would not be a victim of history; he intended to reshape it entirely. The Lancaster grip on power would falter,...