Fate’s Billionaire

Proof That Shouldn’t Exist

Vincent woke up knowing someone was going to die.

Not because of a vision.

Because the air felt wrong.

The city outside his window was too quiet for a weekday morning. No horns. No shouting. No usual chaos. Silence like this meant something was being arranged.

He sat up slowly, shoulder aching, and checked his phone.

Three missed calls.

All from Lara.

Vincent exhaled and called back immediately.

“Where are you?” she said the moment she answered. Her voice was tight, controlled, but barely.

“Home,” Vincent replied. “Talk.”

“I found something,” she said. “Something real. Documents. Transfers. Deaths that were ruled accidents but weren’t.”

Vincent closed his eyes.

This was the moment fate always circled back to.

“Lara,” he said carefully, “whatever you found”

“It ties to Darius Vell,” she cut in. “And to shell companies that don’t exist on paper but move millions. People die after the money moves.”

Vincent swung his legs off the bed.

“Where are you?” he asked again.

A pause.

“Newsroom,” she said. “But I think someone knows.”

Vincent’s vision flared without permission.

The newsroom.

Glass.

Screams.

Gunfire.

Timeframe: Two hours.

Vincent stood up so fast the room spun.

“Leave,” he said sharply. “Now.”

“Vincent”

“Lara,” he snapped. “This is not a debate.”

She hesitated. He could hear it in her breathing.

Then, softly, “You sound scared.”

Vincent swallowed.

“I am,” he admitted. “And I don’t get scared easily.”

Silence.

“I’ll meet you,” she said. “The old transit station. Underground.”

“Good,” Vincent said. “Stay visible. Crowds.”

The call ended.

Vincent didn’t waste time. He grabbed his jacket, his gun, yes, gun, and left.

He had crossed too many lines to pretend otherwise now.

The old transit station smelled like dust and forgotten promises. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Vendors sold cheap coffee and newspapers no one trusted.

Vincent spotted Lara instantly.

She looked calm.

Too calm.

He sat across from her, eyes scanning reflections in the dark glass behind her.

“Show me,” he said.

She slid a flash drive across the table.

“This,” she said, “is why they’re killing people.”

Vincent didn’t touch it yet.

“Tell me first.”

Lara leaned in. “There’s a private network. Not government. Not corporate. They call themselves custodians. They intervene when systems destabilize.”

Vincent’s jaw tightened.

“The watchers,” he muttered.

Lara stiffened. “You know?”

“I’ve met their shadows,” Vincent said. “What else?”

“They believe certain deaths must happen,” Lara continued. “CEOs. Politicians. Scientists. Anyone whose survival shifts power too far.”

Vincent felt something cold settle in his chest.

Load-bearing deaths.

“You saving people,” Lara said quietly, “is breaking their structure.”

Vincent finally picked up the drive.

“And Darius?”

“He funds them,” Lara said. “But he’s not the head. He’s a beneficiary. A man who profits when fate stays predictable.”

Vincent’s vision hit him then.

Not Lara.

Himself.

Standing over Darius.

Ending: Close. Violent. Inevitable.

Vincent pushed the image away.

“We can expose this,” Lara said, eyes bright. “This changes everything.”

“No,” Vincent said immediately.

Lara blinked. “What?”

“You expose this,” he said calmly, “and you die. Publicly. Horribly.”

Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Vincent replied. “I see it.”

She stared at him.

Then whispered, “Show me.”

Vincent hesitated.

Then made the mistake of trusting her.

He reached across the table and took her wrist.

The vision exploded between them.

Lara gasped.

Blood. Cameras. Headlines.

Journalist Silenced After Explosive Reveal.

She yanked her hand back, shaking.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “That was”

“Real,” Vincent said. “And preventable only if you stop.”

Lara’s eyes filled, but she didn’t cry.

“That’s not fair,” she said. “They kill people and get to hide because the future says so?”

Vincent leaned closer.

“No,” he said softly. “They get to hide because no one stops them.”

Before she could respond, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Vincent was already moving.

“Get down,” he said.

Gunfire ripped through the station.

People screamed. Glass shattered.

Vincent dragged Lara behind a concrete pillar as bullets chewed into the bench where they’d been sitting seconds earlier.

“I thought you said crowds” Lara yelled.

“They don’t care anymore,” Vincent replied, calm and lethal.

He peeked out.

Three shooters.

Professional.

Vincent didn’t hesitate.

He moved.

The first man dropped before he realized Vincent was there. Vincent disarmed him, used the momentum, fired once.

The second tried to retreat.

Vincent tackled him, slammed him into the wall, unconscious.

The third raised his weapon at Lara.

Vincent threw his knife.

The man fell.

Silence followed, broken only by alarms.

Vincent grabbed Lara’s hand.

“Run.”

They disappeared into maintenance tunnels as sirens wailed above.

They surfaced miles away.

Breathless. Alive.

Lara leaned against a wall, hands shaking.

“They tried to erase us,” she said.

“They tried to erase you,” Vincent corrected. “I’m just in the way.”

She looked at him.

“No,” she said. “You’re the reason I’m still breathing.”

Vincent didn’t answer.

Because he knew the truth.

She was alive because someone else wasn’t.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

You were warned.

Vincent typed back.

Vincent: You missed.

A pause.

Unknown: Escalation approved.

Vincent’s fingers tightened.

Vincent: Touch her again and I dismantle everything.

This time, the reply came slower.

Unknown: Then you become the disaster we were built to prevent.

Vincent stared at the screen.

Then typed:

Vincent: So be it.

He pocketed the phone and looked at Lara.

“We’re past the point of no return,” he said.

Lara nodded, fear and resolve mixing in her eyes.

“Then we finish it,” she said.

Vincent looked out at the city.

At the lives ticking forward.

At endings waiting to be rewritten.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “We do.”