The Gilded Rebirth of Alexander Wirakusuma

chapter 7

The silence at the Orchid Lounge was no longer peaceful; it was the heavy, pressurized quiet that preceded a deep-sea implosion. Alexander stared at the grainy photograph, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The date stamp—three years into a future he had already lived and died in—burned into his retinas.

"You’re shaking, Alexander," Seraphina said, her voice a cool, melodic contrast to the chaos in his head. "It’s a bit uncharacteristic for a man who just shorted a national currency and bankrupted his rival in the same breath."

Alexander forced his fingers to go still, though the paper felt like it was made of dry ice. "Where did this come from? And don't give me that 'friends of my father' line. Nobody has a camera that takes pictures of the future."

"The future?" Seraphina leaned back, a stray lock of dark hair falling over her shoulder. "Is that what you think this is? A glimpse of what’s to come?"

"It’s a hospital in the slums of North Jakarta," Alexander rasped, his voice sounding foreign even to himself. "I recognize the peeling paint on the walls. I recognize the IV drip model. That’s a charity ward."

"A charity ward where Alexander Wirakusuma died of multi-organ failure following a series of unfortunate legal and personal 'accidents,'" Seraphina finished for him. "My father didn't get this from the future, Alex. He got it from a source that claims this has already happened. The anomaly isn't the photo. The anomaly is you sitting here, breathing, looking like you’ve never seen a day of hunger in your life."

Before he could demand an answer, his phone began to vibrate violently on the table. The caller ID showed Nadia.

"I have to take this," Alexander muttered, grabbing the device.

"Go ahead," Seraphina whispered, her eyes never leaving his. "The world doesn't stop turning just because you're a ghost."

Alexander swiped the screen. "Nadia, report."

"Sir, it’s started!" Nadia’s voice was high-pitched, breathless with a mix of adrenaline and fear. "The news of the Sumatra warehouse liens just broke on the Bloomberg terminal. The environmental violations are being framed as 'negligent homicide' because of the groundwater contamination. The Lestari Group’s private bank just issued a margin call on Maximilian’s loans. They’re demanding full repayment by the close of the morning session!"

"And Max?"

"He’s losing it, sir. He’s currently in the lobby of the Wirakusuma Tower, surrounded by reporters. He’s trying to claim the logistics acquisition was a 'forgery,' but we’ve already leaked the signed documents with his digital timestamp. The board is calling for an emergency vote to strip him of his remaining shares to cover the company's liability."

"Good," Alexander said, his eyes flicking back to the photograph. "Tell Clarissa to move the second phase of the buyback. I want those shares at their lowest point."

"Understood, sir. But there’s one more thing. A journalist—Mirella Kinasih—is claiming she has a source inside the tax office. She’s saying the audit wasn't just about the Yen trade. She’s saying they’re looking for 'Project Phoenix.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Alexander’s blood turned to slush. "Project Phoenix" was the internal codename Maximilian had used for the final liquidation of Alexander’s assets in his previous life. It shouldn't exist yet.

"I’ll deal with it, Nadia. Get to the safe room. Now."

He hung up and looked at Seraphina. "You heard that?"

"Mirella is a persistent one," Seraphina noted, sipping her gin as if they were discussing the weather. "But she’s just a symptom. The real disease is that you’re not the only one playing with a rigged deck."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Alexander stood up, grabbing his blazer. "I need to get back to the office. If the board votes now, I need to be there to sign the reclamation papers."

"I’m coming with you," Seraphina said, standing in one fluid motion.

"This is family business, Seraphina."

"No, Alexander. This is 'the world is about to realize you shouldn't exist' business. And trust me, you don't want to walk into that building alone."

*

The drive back to the Wirakusuma Tower was a blur of high-speed maneuvers and frantic phone calls. As the Rolls-Royce pulled into the underground executive garage, the air felt thick with tension. The usual security detail looked frazzled, their earpieces buzzing with a constant stream of chatter.

Alexander stepped out of the car, Seraphina right behind him. They were met by Cassian, who was leaning against a concrete pillar, his tactical vest visible beneath an unbuttoned shirt.

"Boss, we’ve got a problem," Cassian said, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. "The elevators are locked out on the 40th floor. Someone bypassed the master override from the inside."

"Max?" Alexander asked, heading for the service stairs.

"Doubt it. Max is currently being eaten alive by the press in the lobby. He doesn't have the technical chops for this," Cassian said, checking his handgun before holstering it. "Someone else is in the server room. They’re wiping the audit trails."

"Clarissa is in the boardroom," Alexander said, his heart rate spiking. "Is she safe?"

"She’s with Everett. They’ve got two of my guys at the door," Cassian replied. "But my sensors are picking up a signal interference I don't like. It’s a localized jammer."

They reached the 42nd floor—Alexander’s private office. The hallways were eerily empty. The silence was heavy, broken only by the hum of the HVAC system. Alexander pushed open the heavy oak doors to his office, expecting to find it empty.

Instead, Seraphina walked past him, heading straight for his desk. She turned a laptop around and tapped a few keys.

"You’re looking at the wrong enemy, Alexander," she said, her voice echoing in the large room.

She pulled up a live feed. It wasn't the company’s security cameras. It was a hidden stream from a location Alexander didn't recognize—a sterile, white room. In the center of the room sat a woman with sharp, bobbed hair, her back to the camera.

"Mirella Kinasih?" Alexander asked, squinting at the screen.

"No," Seraphina said. "Look at the desk."

On the woman's desk was a duplicate of the black folder Alexander had bought at the auction. Next to it was a tablet displaying the exact same trading platform Alexander used, showing his billion-dollar profit.

"She’s mirroring my trades," Alexander whispered. "How?"

"She’s not mirroring them," Seraphina said, looking at him with a terrifying intensity. "She’s predicting them. Just like you."

"Who is she?"

"Someone who remembers the charity ward just as clearly as you do," Seraphina replied. "But unlike you, she doesn't want to change the ending. She wants to accelerate it."

Suddenly, the screen on the laptop flickered and died. A low, rhythmic thumping sound began to vibrate through the floorboards.

"Cassian!" Alexander shouted into his earpiece. "What was that?"

"Boss, get down!" Cassian’s voice was distorted by heavy static. "There’s a breach in the north stairwell. They’re not auditors! They’re—"

The sound of a muffled explosion rocked the building. The floor tilted, and the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the office shattered inward. Alexander threw himself over his desk, glass raining down like lethal diamonds.

"Cassian? Cassian, answer me!"

The security feed on the wall monitor flickered back to life for a split second. Alexander saw a grainy image of the hallway. Cassian was on the ground, struggling with three figures in dark tactical gear. One of them raised a heavy, silenced weapon and fired. The screen went to black.

"No!" Alexander scrambled to his feet, his palms bleeding from the glass shards.

Seraphina was already standing by the door, her composure unshaken even as smoke began to billow into the room. She reached into her blazer and pulled out a sleek, compact pistol.

"They’re faster than I thought," she muttered, checking the magazine.

"Who are they? The Lestaris? Max?" Alexander’s voice was jagged with rage.

"Max is a puppet, Alex. He always was," Seraphina said. She stepped toward the door, but she didn't look out into the hallway. Instead, she pointed the gun directly at the heavy double doors leading to the boardroom where Clarissa was supposed to be.

"What are you doing?" Alexander gasped. "My sister is in there!"

"Your sister isn't who you think she is," Seraphina said, her eyes cold and focused. "And neither am I. But right now, we have a common problem."

The doors to the office groaned as if being pushed by an immense force. A red laser dot appeared on the center of the wood, dancing toward the handle.

"They didn't come for the company, Alexander," Seraphina whispered, her finger tightening on the trigger. "They came for the anomalies. They’re here for both of us this time."

"Who are 'they'?" Alexander demanded, his hand reaching for a heavy glass award on his desk—the only weapon he had left.

"The people who make sure the timeline stays 'corrected,'" Seraphina said.

The door exploded inward. Seraphina didn't hesitate. She fired three shots into the smoke, the muzzle flashes illuminating the room in strobing bursts of light.

"Run, Alexander!" she shouted over the roar of the fire alarm. "If you die here, there isn't another rebirth waiting for you!"

Alexander looked at the shattered window, then at the doorway where shadows were moving through the smoke. He looked at Seraphina, the woman who held the photo of his death, now standing as the only thing between him and a second ending.

He didn't run. He gripped the glass award, his eyes turning stone-cold.

"I already died once," Alexander hissed, the adrenaline drowning out the fear. "I’m not doing it again without taking the whole stadium down with me."