Crawford Manor loomed against the evening sky, its limestone facade glowing amber in the setting sun. Michael paused at the iron gates, memories washing over him as security verified his identity. How many times had he driven through these gates in his previous life, always rushing, always focused on the next business battle? Never appreciating the history these walls contained."Mr. Crawford," the guard nodded respectfully, raising the gate. "Your father is expecting you."The long, tree-lined driveway curved through manicured gardens. Michael drove slowly, taking in details he'd overlooked for years. The massive oak where he'd built a treehouse at twelve. The stone bench where his mother had read to him on summer afternoons before her illness. The small reflecting pool where he and Eric had once sailed homemade boats in rare moments of brotherly peace.Henderson, the family butler who had served the Crawfords for three decades, greeted Michael at the grand entrance. His lined face r

The gift presentation had concluded, but the evening's entertainment was far from over. As family members returned to mingling with drinks in hand, Michael noticed Eric moving purposefully through the crowd. His brother's expression carried the satisfied look of someone whose trap was about to spring."Quite a modest offering from the COO," Cousin William remarked as he passed Michael, not quite hiding his smirk. "Though I suppose recent... corporate complications might necessitate budgeting."Similar comments followed as Michael made his way toward the bar. Subtle jabs, barely disguised as conversation. Eric had clearly been working the family network all evening, sowing seeds of doubt about Michael's standing."Whiskey, neat," Michael requested from the bartender. As he waited, Aunt Patricia approached, her expensive perfume announcing her arrival before she spoke."Michael, darling," she said, air-kissing near his cheek. "Such a... thoughtful little gift you brought. Very crafty."

Michael's private phone buzzed as he reviewed security protocols for Buzzer Tech's upcoming firmware update. The number displayed wasn't one he immediately recognized, but few people had access to this particular line. He stepped away from his desk and answered."Michael Crawford.""It's Sophia." Her voice carried its usual confident tone. "We need to meet. About the fashion brand idea."Michael paused, surprised by the sudden reference to the blueprint he'd shown her weeks ago. In the chaos of recent events—Sandra's poisoning, Eric's boardroom schemes, Richard's birthday—he'd nearly forgotten about the fashion concept."Interesting timing," he said, moving to the window of his office. "Any particular reason for the sudden interest?""Let's just say inspiration struck," Sophia replied. "I've been working with some of the adaptive materials we discussed, and the results are... promising. But this isn't a conversation for phone lines."Michael understood her caution. After the security

Michael woke with a start, momentarily disoriented in the sparsely furnished apartment. Sunlight streamed through thin curtains, casting long afternoon shadows across the bare floor. He checked his watch—he'd slept for nearly six hours, unusual for him but understandable after the tension of executing the Polar Grid trade.The trading monitors still displayed his positions, the numbers glowing steadily. No catastrophic drops yet, but subtle downward movement in Polar Grid stock had already begun. Just as he remembered from his previous life, the warning signs were appearing—minor service disruptions in the northern district, a small fire at a substation, isolated power fluctuations reported across the city.Precursors to the cascade failure that would soon bring the entire grid down.Michael rose and moved to the apartment's small kitchenette, brewing a cup of instant coffee. This place was deliberately austere—nothing that would connect it to Michael Crawford's usual lifestyle. The f

Dawn had not yet broken when Michael returned to the apartment building. He wore nondescript clothing—jeans, hoodie, baseball cap pulled low—nothing that would connect him to either Michael Crawford or the Black Investor. A disposable phone and a backpack containing only essential items completed his anonymous appearance.The building stood quiet in the pre-dawn darkness, most residents still asleep after the chaos of the previous day's citywide blackout. Power had been restored to this district overnight, but the aftermath of the Polar Grid failure continued to disrupt normal routines throughout the city.Michael entered through the service entrance, using a key card he'd programmed to avoid creating digital access records. The maintenance corridors were deserted at this hour, allowing him to reach the fifteenth floor unobserved. He paused at the stairwell door, enhanced perception scanning for any signs of surveillance.Nothing visible, but instinct told him Eric's people were watch