The meeting ended without resolution. That alone was unusual.Richard Hale stood slowly, straightened his jacket, and said, “Let’s end this meeting here. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning. I need to make some enquiries.” Nothing more.No explanations. No arguments. No insults. Just that. People exchanged looks as he walked out—measured steps, shoulders squared, face unreadable. The door closed behind him with a soft click, yet it sounded louder than any shout he had ever made.For the first time in years, Richard Hale had asked for time. That night, his office light stayed on longer than usual.He sat alone, files spread across his desk. Reports. Old emails. Projections he had once dismissed without reading past the first page.One name appeared again and again. Ethan Blackwood. Richard leaned back, fingers pressed together.He remembered the boy, quiet, observant, always writing things down. He remembered how easily Ethan had spoken in meetings, how confidently he had predicted outcom

Friday nights never changed.No matter how the week went, profit or loss, victory or humiliation, Richard Hale always ended his Fridays at the same bar. Same corner booth. Same low lights. Same seven men.They called themselves friends, but they were more like mirrors, men of power, ego, money, and influence. CEOs, investors, contractors, politicians-in-waiting. Men who believed the world bent because they leaned on it.The bar smelled of aged whiskey and polished wood. Jazz hummed softly in the background, just loud enough to drown out conscience.Richard arrived late. That alone drew attention. “Look who finally decided to join civilization,”one of them joked. Richard didn’t smile. He loosened his tie and dropped into the booth, signaling the bartender without a word. “Bad week?”another asked. Richard took the glass handed to him and swallowed deeply before answering. “Bad… realization,”he said. That caught their attention. They leaned in. Richard stared into his drink for a mome