STAR ACADEMY

CHAPTER THREE

The Mercedes moved through Manhattan like a shark through dark water. Smooth and silent. Carter sat as far from Reginald as the seat would allow, which was not very far. The man's presence filled the space and it made Carter very uncomfortable.

The partition between the front and back seats was up. The driver was invisible behind tinted glass. Carter could see the van following behind them through the rear window.

Reginald had his phone out, typing something rapidly. Carter tore his attention away from Reginald and instead watched the city slide past outside. They were heading uptown, toward the park. The streets were cleaner and quieter here. The buildings were also taller. This was not his New York. This was the version that existed for people like Owen Grace. People who had never worried about rent or food or whether they could afford the subway.

"Who the hell are you really?" The question came out before Carter could stop it.

Reginald did not look up from his phone as he answered, "I told you. I manage security and private affairs for the Grace family."

"That's not an answer."

"It’s the only answer you’ll get." Reginald finished typing and slipped the phone into his pocket. "But if you want more detail, I can give it. I spent fifteen years with British intelligence, MI6. I specialized in asset management and information security. For a time, I worked under a private American group called NEXUS. They were brilliant, always expanding, always trying to prove they were untouchable. Then they were attacked by unknown people, and their whole operation began to fall apart. When NEXUS finally collapsed, the Graces made sure its best technologies and contacts didn’t disappear. They absorbed them piece by piece and became stronger than ever. Soon after, the Graces recruited me."

Carter frowned. “What kind of ‘technologies’ are we talking about?”

Reginald’s eyes flicked toward him as he replied, “That is not for you to know. And even if you did, it would not change your role. Focus on what matters, Mr. Hayes. The Graces survive because they adapt. Part of that adaptation involves sensitive operations. These are projects that are too costly and too dangerous to ever see daylight. That is what keeps them untouchable.”

“Sensitive operations.” Carter’s laugh was bitter. “You mean covering up scandals.”

"I mean protecting the family's interests. Sometimes that involves managing public image," Reginald replied.

The car turned onto Fifth Avenue. The park stretched out to their left, dark and vast.

"This is insane," Carter said. "You know that, right? I don't know anything about being rich. I can't just walk into some elite academy and pretend to be one of them. They'll see through me in five minutes."

"They will see what we teach you to show them," Reginald replied in a patient tone, like he was explaining something obvious to a slow child. "You will not be walking into Star Academy unprepared, Mr. Hayes. You will receive thorough training. Everything Owen Grace would know, you will learn."

"In how long?" Carter asked

"Three weeks," Reginald said.

Carter barked a laugh. "Three weeks? That's impossible."

"Three weeks to learn the essentials. The rest you will improvise." Reginald pulled out a thin tablet from the seat pocket in front of him. He tapped it awake and handed it to Carter. "This is Owen Grace's page. Study it."

The screen showed Owen's social media profile. Thousands of photos and videos stretching back years. Carter scrolled through them slowly. Some pictures showed Owen at parties, dancing on yachts. A few of the videos showed Owen testing out designer clothes in front of famous places around the world. Every photo seemed so perfect, like he was living his best life. But there was something else there too. Something in Owen's eyes. A certain coldness. Like he was performing for the camera rather than living for it.

"He looks miserable," Carter said.

"He was," Reginald replied, taking the tablet back. "Owen Grace had everything anyone could want, but it still couldn’t fill the emptiness that comes with too much fame. That emptiness eventually broke him, which, in a way, makes your job easier."

"How?" Carter asked.

"Because you are not impersonating someone happy and well-adjusted. You are impersonating someone who has been through trauma. Someone who is trying to rebuild himself. That gives you room for imperfection. Room for growth. Room to be different from who Owen was before his breakdown."

Carter processed that. "So if I screw up, I can just say I'm still recovering."

"Within reason, yes." Reginald’s look hardened. "But don’t take that as permission to be careless. The people at Star Academy are very smart. Many of them knew Owen well. If you act too different, they’ll notice. If you act the same, they’ll wonder why his break changed nothing. You have to balance both, showing some change but not too much."

"No pressure," Carter said with a sigh.

"Quite a bit of pressure, actually," Reginald said, pulling out another device, smaller this time. It looked like a high-end phone but had modifications Carter didn’t recognize. "This is the Grace Protocol. A private system made for Owen’s diplomatic training. It will be your main tool."

"What does it do?" Carter asked.

"Everything you can’t." Reginald raised the device. "It analyzes people, helps with memory, improves communication. It reads facial cues, tracks social patterns, and suggests the best way to respond in tricky situations. Think of it as an AI tutor you carry everywhere."

Carter stared at the device. "That's not a phone."

"No. It’s much more advanced," Reginald said. "The interface will be connected directly to your neural pathways through a small surgical procedure. You’ll experience it as an augmented reality overlay, invisible to others but always available to you."

"You want to put something in my brain," Carter said, his eyes widening.

"I want to give you the tools to succeed. The Protocol is not optional, Mr. Hayes. Without it, you have no chance of maintaining the deception. With it, you have a fighting chance."

"And if it malfunctions? If it fries my brain?"

"The technology has been tested extensively. The risks are minimal." Reginald's tone suggested the conversation was over. "Dr. Mora will perform the installation. She is the best neural interface specialist in the world. You will be perfectly safe."

"Forgive me if I don't find that reassuring," Carter responded.

Reginald's smile was thin as he said, "Your reassurance is not needed. Your compliance is."

The car had left the city behind. They drove along a quiet highway heading north. The bright city lights faded as they moved farther out. Tall buildings gave way to smaller houses, then to open land, and finally to thick trees on both sides of the road. The noise of the city was gone, replaced by the sound of the wind through the forest. Carter felt like he was being pulled further and further away from everything he knew.

"Tell me about Star Academy," he said. "What is it really?"

"It’s just what the name says," Reginald replied. "An academy for stars, people who live in the public eye. Influencers, diplomats, celebrities, and wealthy heirs. They learn about image control, handling scandals, building a brand, and social strategy. Students compete for rank and reputation. The best graduates are promised positions of real power and influence."

"Sounds like hell."

"It’s very competitive, yes," Reginald said. "But it’s also where the world’s elite send their children to learn how to manage modern power. Owen Grace was accepted three years ago. He’s attended off and on, his studies often interrupted by his personal problems. Your arrival will look like his return after another long break."

Carter watched the dark trees flash past. "Why not just keep Owen hidden until he gets better?"

"Because his acceptance to Star Academy is public record. His past attendance is also public record. If he never goes back, people will start asking questions. The family’s rivals will dig deeper. They’ll find out about his condition, and the Grace name will be ruined," Reginald said. His fingers tapped once on his knee, the only sign of tension Carter had seen from him. "This way, Owen returns, finishes his studies, and graduates. By the time anyone suspects something is wrong, his condition will have improved or the family will have found another solution."

"Another solution meaning what?"

"That is not your concern."

The car exited the highway onto a smaller road. The trees here were older, thicker. Gates appeared in the headlights, massive iron things with security cameras and an intercom system. The driver spoke into it. The gates swung open loudly.

"Where are we?" Carter asked.

"The Grace Manor. The family's main residence," Reginald replied as he straightened his tie. "You will meet them shortly. I should prepare you for that experience."

"Prepare me how?"

"The Graces are not like people you have encountered before, Mr. Hayes. They are extraordinarily wealthy and extraordinarily powerful. They do not see the world the way normal people do. To them, you are not a person. You are a tool. A temporary solution to a problem. Treat them with respect, speak only when addressed, and do not presume familiarity."

"So bow and scrape and know my place."

"Precisely," Reginald said. "You are not their equal. You never will be. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for everyone."

Carter's hands clenched into fists. But he said nothing. What was there to say? Reginald was right.

The car wound up a long driveway. Trees gave way to manicured lawns. The house appeared gradually, growing larger as they approached. Calling it a house was like calling the ocean a puddle. It was a mansion. Gothic architecture. Stone and glass and angles that suggested it had been built over centuries rather than years. Windows glowed with warm light. The place looked like something from a movie. Old money made physical.

The Mercedes stopped in front of a massive entrance. Stone steps led up to doors that were easily twelve feet tall. Security lights illuminated everything with harsh clarity.

Reginald opened his door. "Come along, Mr. Hayes. It is time to meet your new family."

Carter's stomach was churning. He followed Reginald out of the car, his legs unsteady. The October air was colder here, away from the city. His breath fogged in front of his face.

The van had pulled up behind them. Scarface and the others got out but stayed by their vehicle. Watching.

Reginald climbed the steps with easy confidence. Carter followed, feeling like he was walking to his execution. The doors opened before they reached them. A butler, elderly and dignified, stood in the entrance. He nodded to Reginald without speaking.

The interior was even more intimidating than the exterior. The entrance hall was vast, floored in marble that reflected the chandelier light like a mirror. Oil paintings lined the walls, portraits of stern-looking people in old-fashioned dress. Ancestors, probably. Generations of wealth and power staring down at the intruder.

"This way." Reginald led him through a side door into a corridor. More paintings. More marble. The silence was oppressive. They soon reached a set of double doors. Dark wood, carved with delicate patterns. Reginald paused with his hand on the handle.

"Remember what I said. Speak when spoken to. Show respect. Do not embarrass yourself or me." He pushed the doors open. "After you, Mr. Hayes."

Carter stepped through into what appeared to be a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling. A fireplace crackled at one end. Leather furniture was arranged in careful groupings. Everything in the room definitely cost more than Carter had made in his entire life.

Two people waited by the fireplace.

The woman was in her fifties, elegant in a way that seemed effortless. Blonde hair pulled back. Perfect posture. She wore a simple black dress that probably came from some designer Carter had never heard of. Her face was beautiful in a cold, preserved way. Like she had been carved from ice and convinced to move. She looked at him the way someone might look at a rat.

The man looked to be in his early sixties. His hair was silver, and his features were sharp and firm. He sat in a leather chair by the fire with a drink in his hand and didn’t bother to stand when Carter walked in. He barely looked up from the newspaper he was reading. Everything about him showed indifference, as if Carter’s presence was a minor interruption.

"Mr. and Mrs. Grace," Reginald said. "May I present Carter Hayes."

Margaret Grace stepped forward. She stopped three feet from Carter and studied him with the kind of intensity that made his skin crawl. Her eyes moved across his face exactly as Reginald's had. Cataloging. Comparing.

"Turn around," she said.

Carter turned slowly. Felt her gaze on his back, his shoulders, his height and build.

"Face me again."

He turned back. She stepped closer. Reached out and tilted his chin up with cold fingers. Examined his jawline, his cheekbones, his nose. Like he was livestock at auction.

"Remarkable," she said finally. "The resemblance is extraordinary. Are you certain there is no familial connection?"

"I had his background investigated thoroughly," Reginald said. "There is no blood relation. Pure coincidence."

"Coincidence." Margaret released Carter's chin and stepped back. "I do not believe in coincidence, Reginald. But I will accept providence." She circled Carter once more. "He will need work. Obviously. The coloring is wrong. The posture is atrocious. The way he stands screams poverty."

Carter's jaw tightened but he kept silent.

Edward Grace finally spoke from his chair. "Is this really our best option?" His voice was deep, bored. "A common criminal?"

"He is our only option," Margaret said. "Unless you wish to explain to the board why Owen has vanished indefinitely. Or perhaps you would prefer the media speculation about his mental health to continue unchecked."

Edward took a sip of his drink. Said nothing.

Margaret turned her full attention to Carter. "What is your name?"

"Carter Hayes, ma'am."

"Where were you educated?"

"Public school in Brooklyn. I didn't finish college though," Carter said.

Her expression did not change but somehow conveyed disappointment. "Of course you didn't. Can you read and write at an acceptable level?"

"Yes."

"Languages?"

"Just English."

"Unfortunate. Owen speaks three," she said. She clasped her hands. "You will have heavy training over the next few weeks. You will learn etiquette, diction, history, social protocol, and everything needed to pass as my son. You will study his life until you drown in his memories. You will become Owen Grace in every meaningful way except the one that matters."

"And what's that?" Carter asked before he could stop himself.

Margaret's smile was thin and sharp. "Breeding, Mr. Hayes. True breeding cannot be taught. It is inherited. That means you will always be a forgery. Our task is to make you a convincing one."

The words should have hurt. Instead, Carter felt a strange calm settle over him. These people were exactly what he had expected. Exactly what they appeared to be. At least there was no pretense here.

"I understand," he said.

"I doubt that." Margaret turned to Reginald. "Begin his preparation tomorrow. I want daily progress reports. If at any point he proves inadequate, terminate the arrangement and find another solution."

Edward spoke again without looking up from his paper. "He's crude, Margaret. This will never work."

"Owen was weak," Margaret said coldly. "Perhaps Mr. Hayes will be an improvement."

The casual dismissal of their own son hung in the air. Carter felt sick.

Margaret walked to the door. "Reginald will show you to your quarters. Training begins at six tomorrow morning. Do not be late." She paused at the threshold. "And Mr. Hayes? One final thing."

"Yes?"

"Owen is our son. He is flesh of our flesh. You are a temporary convenience. Remember that distinction. Remember your place. Are we clear?"

Carter met her cold eyes. "Crystal clear, ma'am."

She left without another word. Edward stood, drained his glass, and followed her out without so much as glancing at Carter.

The door closed. Carter and Reginald were alone in the study.

"Well," Reginald said after a moment. "That went better than expected."

"Better?" Carter's voice was hollow. "They talked about their son like he was broken furniture."

"They are pragmatists, Mr. Hayes. Sentiment is a luxury they cannot afford. The sooner you understand that, the better." Reginald gestured to the door. "Come along. I'll show you where you'll be staying."

Carter said nothing. He was too busy wondering if he had just made a deal with the devil, and what it might one day cost him.