---The first thing Nathan Reed noticed was that he wasn't dead No, scratch that. The first thing was the air. Cold. Clean. Lemon Pledge and the faint mildew from the window AC unit in his old Georgetown apartment. Not blood. Not exhaust from a parking garage. Not the smell of Adonis Daniels’s cologne mixed with his own blood. He gasped — like, actually gasped, ugly and loud — and rolled onto his side. His cheek hit wool. The Persian rug. The one Sophia Reed bought him when he graduated, the one that “smelled like divorce” according to Melanie Rivers, the one he’d thrown out eight years from now. Or eight years ago. “Shit,” he croaked. His voice was wrecked. “Shit, uh, shit.” He pushed himself up. The room swam. Same desk. Same laptop. Same cracked iPhone 12 on the nightstand instead of the encrypted Starkphone he’d been using when he died. Died. Right. That. He yanked his shirt up, expecting... God, he didn’t know. A scar? Stitches? His insides on his outside? But there

---Chapter 3: The First Scar Day 15 started with blood. Not a lot. Just enough to drip onto his bathroom sink and ruin the morning. Nathan stared at his right hand. The knuckles were split, swollen, ugly. Punching that brick wall outside Ascend Fitness had felt good for, like, three seconds. Now it felt stupid. Infected stupid. “Okay, um...” He ran the water. It stung. “Note to self. You’re not, like, twenty-four with Wolverine healing. You’re twenty-four with a trust fund and bad decisions.” He wrapped it in gauze from CVS. It bled through by 10 AM. By noon, Jonah was texting him. Jonah Carter: dude u alive? Jonah Carter: damien just called me. ASKED me if u were okay Jonah Carter: damien. reed. called. me. Jonah Carter: what did u DO Nathan typed back: I’m fine. Signed the term sheet. That’s it. Three dots. Then: Jonah Carter: ...and? Jonah Carter: nate come on. he doesn’t call ppl. he summons them. Nathan didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know either. In

Chapter 5: The Caldwell Problem Day 28 started with an email. From: Michael Caldwell To: Elena Torres CC: Nathan Reed Subject: Coffee? Elena — Heard Reed Capital got to you first. Congrats. But, uh, I think we both know Damien’s play here. He doesn’t do tech. He does golf courses. I do tech. My fund is all in on Series B. No board seats, no micromanaging, just capital and connections. Let’s talk. Off the record. —M Nathan read it three times. Then a fourth. His coffee went cold. In the other life, Caldwell got this meeting. And he got NexPay. And Nathan got nothing except a tabloid photo of Melanie at Caldwell’s launch party, on Adonis’s arm. Not this time. He forwarded it to Damien. No subject line. Just: ? Damien replied in six minutes: My office. Now. --- Reed Ventures. 9 AM. Damien didn’t look up when Nathan walked in. “You saw it,” Damien said. Flat. “Yeah. I, uh... I saw it.” Nathan sat. “He’s moving fast.” “He always does.” Damien finally l

Chapter 7: The Heart Monitor Day 42 started with beeping. Not an alarm. Not urgent. Just the steady, awful, beep... beep... beep of a heart monitor in a private room at George Washington Hospital. Damien Reed hated it. “This is, mmm, this is ridiculous,” he said, voice rough from the oxygen. “I’m fine. I have a call at nine.” “You had a call,” Sophia said. She hadn’t left his side in two days. Hadn’t slept. Hadn’t changed clothes. “You canceled it. Because you, um, because you almost died in your office, Damien.” “I did not—” “You did,” Nathan cut in. He was in the chair by the window. Hadn’t left either. “Amber said—” “Dr. Evans,” Sophia corrected, automatic. “Dr. Evans,” Nathan said, “said your EKG looked like, uh, like a ‘bad stock chart.’ Her words. Not mine.” Damien huffed. “She’s got a mouth on her.” “She’s got a point,” Sophia said. “And you’re listening to her. Both of you.” The door opened. Amber. Scrubs, hair up, tablet in hand, coffee that was prob

---Chapter 9: The Mentor Meeting Day 62 started with Jonah lying. Nathan: Where are you? Jonah: Library. Studying. Why? Nathan: Because your location says Penn Quarter. Near Blue Bottle. Jonah: ... Jonah: okay fine Jonah: I’m meeting him Jonah: it’s just coffee Jonah: I’ll record it like you said Nathan was already in his car. Nathan: Leave. Now. Jonah: nate chill Jonah: I’m a law student. I can handle coffee Nathan: Jonah. He’s not a mentor. He’s a predator. Get out. Three dots. Then nothing. Nathan ran a red light. --- Blue Bottle. Penn Quarter. 10:17 AM. Nathan walked in and saw them immediately. Douglas Rivers. Sixty-two. Silver hair, tailored suit, the kind of smile that had won boardrooms and ruined lives. Across from him, Jonah. Tense. Notebook open. Pen gripped like a weapon. Nathan didn’t say anything. He just walked over and sat down. Douglas didn’t flinch. “Nathan. Didn’t expect you.” “Yeah, well,” Nathan said. “I’m full of sur