The morning sun fractured through the sprawling penthouse windows, casting angular shadows across the marble floors. Mr. Dime still inhabiting the persona of Elias Thorne stood before his reflection, unmoving. The mirror didn't lie. His eyes were no longer empty. They swirled with tension, remembering too much and not enough.
The memory had hit him like a thunderclap in a dream: flames, water, screams muffled by salt and smoke. The ship. The storm. And then… nothing. Just the vast darkness of the sea swallowing a man whole.
Now awake, he sat in silence, still dressed in last night's suit, shirt wrinkled, collar slightly damp with sweat. The name had echoed in his head again and again
Magritte.
He couldn't place it, not fully. But the way his heart squeezed around it felt like a warning.
There was a soft knock.
"Come in," he said, voice hoarse.
The door opened to reveal Jude his ever-loyal P.A. Clean-cut as always, clipboard in hand, suit uncreased, manner unreadable.
"Sir," Jude began cautiously, "your first meeting is at nine. But I wanted to check on you before the press conference."
Mr. Dime turned to him. "Jude... who is Magritte?"
Jude stiffened. A subtle reaction, but enough to answer everything.
"You do know her."
"I I do, sir," Jude said slowly. "But… are you sure you want to open that chapter?"
"I asked a simple question."
Jude hesitated, then sighed. "Magritte was… complicated. One of the few people your real self Elias trusted without doubt. She was private. Rarely seen. Worked in intelligence for a while, unofficially attached to foreign acquisitions. But something happened. Something involving the Duchess Corporation, and after that, she disappeared."
Dime frowned. "Disappeared how?"
"Rumor was she vanished after the yacht explosion. Same day you were presumed dead."
Something inside him twisted. Magritte. Duchess Corporation. The yacht. It was all connected.
And now he was left untangling someone else's knots while drowning in scandals he couldn't afford to ignore.
By noon, he was seated at the head of the boardroom table Draxton's high council watching him with sharp eyes. Cameras had been banned. This wasn't a public statement. This was damage control.
"Mr. Thorne," began Linda Voss, head of PR, a woman with hawk-like brows and a velvet voice. "The photo leaked to the press shows you leaving a suite with Miss Leora Valentine of the Duchess Corporation. She is seen adjusting her blouse. You, visibly disoriented."
"It's a setup," Mr. Dime said simply.
"Nonetheless, it's going viral. Your late father valued moral image. You are the face of this company now."
He kept his expression even. "Has anyone bothered to question *why* the Duchess Corporation would be so keen to disgrace me?"
No answer.
"Have we traced the leak?"
Jude answered, "It was released through a shell media group. Traced back to a firm run by… Dexter's cousin."
"Of course it was," Mr. Dime murmured, standing. "Prepare a statement. No denial. No admission. Just facts. I will address it myself."
"You'll face them? The press?" Linda asked, startled.
"I'll face *anyone* trying to control my narrative."
By evening, the city buzzed with anticipation. The press conference had been called with only two hours' notice, yet the room was packed.
Cameras flashed. Reporters clamored.
He stepped up to the podium, microphone cold against his breath.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I am Elias Thorne. I am also a man who, 25 years ago, nearly drowned. In the time since, I have rebuilt myself not just from memory, but from principle. Many of you have seen images circulated this morning. I say this let truth come as it may. I do not fear it."
He paused, eyes scanning the audience. A flicker of movement caught his attention.
Back row. Woman. Sharp cheekbones. Short black bob. Magritte?
No. She was gone before he could confirm it.
"I make this promise: I will run Draxton Corporation with transparency and integrity. And those who work to manipulate or sabotage will find themselves exposed. That is all."
A single round of applause. Then silence.
Back in his car, silence filled the space between him and Jude.
"You saw her too," he finally said.
"I did."
"You think it's really Magritte?"
"I don't know. But if she's watching, there's a reason."
Mr. Dime stared out the window. "And I intend to find out."
Later that night, he stood alone on the rooftop of the Thorne estate. The stars above glittered like secrets. A voice startled him.
"Quite the show, Elias."
He turned.
Lewis.
Dressed in civilian wear now, but every bit the ex-military enforcer he remembered.
"Didn't expect you to drop in."
"I go where the action is." Lewis lit a cigarette. "Or where trouble brews."
"You came because of the scandal?"
Lewis exhaled smoke. "Partially. But mostly because Duchess Corp. is involved. And they don't play fair."
"You think Leora planned the setup?"
Lewis nodded. "She's one of many. They're trying to buy out your controlling shares. Public disgrace makes that easier."
"And you're here why?"
"Because I owe you one. You covered for me years ago, when no one else did. I don't forget that."
Mr. Dime studied him. "Then help me burn them down."
Lewis smiled. "Now *that's* the Thorne I remember."
As midnight approached, Mr. Dime poured himself a drink. His phone buzzed.
One message. Unknown number.
"You're not supposed to be alive. M."
His hand froze.
Magritte.