Beneath the Gilded Teeth
The city never truly slept, but Elias Thorne did briefly, uneasily.
That night, his dreams weren't just fragmented memories; they were constructed, like scenes pulled from an architect's mind. His breath hitched in his sleep as he saw a room filled with smoke, voices arguing behind tinted glass. A man slammed a gavel. A woman in red turned her back to him. And then a name echoed in his head Magritte, but it was said with a different tone. Not one of alliance.
One of fear.
He woke up in sweat.
Jude was already in the room when he sat up, the lights dimmed low.
"You had another one," Jude said.
Elias didn't deny it.
He rose, shirtless, walking to the mirror. "Why didn't you tell me Valerie was part of the shipping consortium?"
Jude hesitated.
"I wasn't sure," he admitted. "You were… not in a state to handle another betrayal at the time."
"And now?" Elias turned, eyes glassy. "Am I ready now?"
Jude swallowed, then nodded. "Now, you're dangerous. Just the way they feared."
Two Days Later, Boardroom Duchess International, Floor 91
Valerie sat between two investors, her face framed by platinum earrings. Landon Crick stood at the far end, rehearsing the numbers in his head. But the room's attention shifted as soon as Elias entered.
No tie. Rolled sleeves. Calculated indifference.
He sat across from her.
Everyone felt it the shift in temperature.
"I see you've recovered," Valerie said, lips curling slightly.
Elias returned the smile. "I was never sick. Just misinformed."
The lead investor cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
Valerie turned, still watching Elias from the corner of her eye. "Please."
What followed was a presentation of growth charts, expansion plans, fiscal recalibration. Elias didn't flinch. He let Valerie lead, let her voice rise with persuasive flair. She still had it the capacity to seduce a boardroom like it was a ballroom.
But then, he stood.
"Before we move forward," he said, voice calm, "I'd like to share a document with the board."
He dropped the file on the table.
"Evidence of unauthorized asset transfers made through a proxy company DexFab Industries. The signatory was Valerie Dexter."
Gasps. A pause.
Valerie's smile didn't break but her fingers stiffened.
"That's a bold accusation," she said.
"It's not an accusation," he replied. "It's an audit."
Landon turned pale. He knew about DexFab. He'd advised on it.
The investor beside him whispered something to his assistant and stood. "This meeting is adjourned. An internal investigation will be launched immediately."
Everyone began to rise. Everyone but Valerie and Elias.
"I don't lose," she said quietly.
"You already did," he replied.
She stood slowly, heels clicking like gunshots on marble.
But as she passed him, she whispered something so low it could've been a breath.
"You still don't remember what I did on the ship… do you?"
Elias blinked.
And suddenly, he saw fire again.
But this time, it wasn't in his dream.
It was in her eyes.
That Evening, Rooftop Lounge, Private Estate
Magritte sipped from a crystal flute, eyes trained on the skyline. Her phone buzzed once.
She didn't check it.
Elias joined her moments later.
"She's slipping," he said.
Magritte nodded. "Slipping is when you stumble. Valerie's sinking."
He studied her face. "Do you trust me?"
Magritte didn't answer immediately.
"I trust your mission," she said. "You and I are aligned in outcome, not origin."
Elias took that as a fair answer.
"What was I like?" he asked suddenly. "Before. Before the boat. Before Mr. Dime."
She looked at him, genuinely this time.
"You were brilliant," she said. "But careless. Too trusting. You gave people the rope never thinking they might hang you with it."
He exhaled slowly.
Magritte leaned in closer. "Now you're sharp. And sharp things cut deeper."
A beat passed.
Then she added, "But don't get too sharp, Elias. Even a blade breaks when it's brittle."
At midnight the Underground Club, Brick District, Landon Crick stormed into the VIP vault, sweat at his collar.
"He exposed DexFab," he hissed. "He has Magritte. He's remembering things."
Dexter stood in the shadows, untouched by his panic.
"He's playing chess," she said.
Landon threw a bottle across the room. "He's winning!"
She turned slowly. "Then maybe it's time we stop playing games."
Outside the door, a third figure listened.
A man in an ash-gray coat. Eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses. His name?
Oswald Marek, And this was the first time he smiled in years.
Back at Draxon, Elias opened a hidden drawer in his study. Inside, an old cassette recorder. The kind he used to use when journaling thoughts on-the-go.
He pressed play.
"March 2nd. I saw her on the docks again. I don't know why I keep going back. Something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong. Magritte says I should leave early. She's never nervous. But she's nervous now."
Click.
He pressed stop.
That was his voice.
And this wasn't a dream.
He sat back, jaw clenched.
They didn't just erase him.
They tried to rebuild him in someone else's image.
But now?
Now he remembered.