Roney Bashan emerged from the side corridor, wiping his hands with a silk cloth like a man fresh off a feast. The summit was over and the guests have all returned home, leaving him with that feeling of satisfaction that he had been able to announce the erection of his most revered boyhood dream, “Crown City.”As a boy growing up in the shadow of rising empires and watching his father bow before men who controlled the world then, like Steven O’Connor was currently doing, Roney had made a silent vow: one day, he would build something that no dynasty could overshadow.To him, Crown City was never just concrete and glass—it was a living monument, a futuristic kingdom where innovation, control, and legacy fused into one.A city where his name would not merely be written on buildings… but carved into history.And now, with the O’Connor legacy seemingly quiet and their land in his grip, he believed it was time—his time to be the major player in the game of wealth and power until he finally

The morning sun filtered gently through the floor-length windows of the Banks Estate breakfast conservatory, spilling golden warmth across the long marble table and bouncing off silver cutlery. Outside, birds chirped across the manicured lawn, and a light breeze rustled the towering hedges surrounding the estate.Inside, the air smelled of fresh-ground coffee, sourdough toast, smoked salmon, and jasmine tea.Chance, in a soft navy polo, sat at the head of the table, flipping through a portfolio on his tablet, his expression calm but thoughtful. To his right was Philip Banks, dressed in a tailored tan vest, sipping his usual lemon tea with the quiet grace of a seasoned strategist. Gary, hair a little tousled from sleep, lounged across from Chance, already halfway through his third croissant. At the far end sat Julia, elegant in a pale linen wrap, her poise unshaken even after a sleepless night.For a few moments, there was only the quiet clink of plates and the rustle of digital paper.

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, but Chance didn’t keep walking. Instead, he stepped aside, away from the main corridor of the East Faculty Wing, and into a quiet corner near the old literature alcove.He realized he was still holding the folder even if he hadn’t really asked what it was for nor what was inside. But since Professor Helsin had given it to him, and had allowed him to leave with it, he decided to open it and see what was inside.Inside was a single photograph—aged, but well-kept. Two young women smiled at the camera in vintage university sweaters, leaning against one another like inseparable twins of fire and intellect. One had luminous eyes—his mother, Julia. The other had a pencil behind her ear, hair wild and windblown, eyes full of a mischief Chance recognized now as Professor Helsin.Chance stared at it, stunned. It was true after all that she and his mother were actually good friends because the picture was saying it all.Looking closely at the picture, he

The door to Julia’s study remained slightly ajar long after Chance stepped out.He didn’t slam it. He didn’t speak another word.But the weight of her final statement—“This conversation is over”—pressed against his ribs like armor that didn’t quite fit. Each step he took down the long corridor echoed in his chest like a quiet defiance, yet there was no victory in it. Only more questions. Questions he wasn’t sure he was ready to answer, but knew he could no longer avoid.The photograph of his mother and Professor Helsin was still fresh in his mind—two young women brimming with ambition, curiosity, and fire. It was more than a picture. It was a memory that didn’t belong to him, yet somehow shaped every corner of the world he now stood in. There had been a time before everything fell apart. Before empires and elections. Before betrayals turned best friends into ghosts.And now?Julia wouldn’t tell him what happened. She wouldn't even entertain the thought. But she’d made one thing painfu

On their way back home, there was this sudden silence that enveloped them in the car, so for the first five minutes of the journey, neither of them said a word to the other.The conversation with Yara Grey had been intense, and the looming weight of four hundred million dollars was impossible to ignore.Philip finally broke the silence, his voice calm but loaded with underlying gravity.“You know we won a battle in there,” he said, glancing briefly at Chance through the rearview mirror. “But it’s not the endgame. Not even close.”Chance exhaled, nodding slowly. “I know.”“But there’s something else we need to talk about,” Philip continued, his hands steady on the steering wheel. “This secrecy… It’s served its purpose. But we’re entering a different arena now. The amount of money you’re about to pull from O’Connor reserves—it won’t go unnoticed.”Chance turned toward him, brows slightly furrowed. “You think it’ll raise suspicions?”“I know it will,” Philip replied. “You’re asking the e