I had crawled through hell and finally made it back to our front step with a wrapped Christmas box in my hands, longing for nothing more than my wife’s touch. But the instant she saw me standing on the porch, her greeting froze the blood in my veins...

Despite the impending doom, the annual New York Tech Winter Gala was happening, and Julian and Elena had to attend to keep up appearances. They needed the industry to believe Vance Global was still a titan, hoping to secure real backing before the IRS froze the new funds.

I bought a tailored tuxedo, shaved my combat beard down to a sharp stubble, and slicked back my hair. I looked different—harder, colder, hollowed out by war and betrayal. I slipped into the gala at the Waldorf Astoria using an invitation forged with my old backdoor access to the event coordinators.

The ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers and fake smiles. I spotted them by the champagne tower. Elena wore a stunning emerald gown, but her smile was brittle. Julian looked like a man walking to the gallows in a tuxedo.

I didn't approach them immediately. I circled the room, whispering into the ears of key investors and journalists. Just a word here, a rumor there. Did you hear about Vance Global’s SEC investigation? Did you know they don't own their own code?

The whispers spread like a virus. Soon, a wide berth formed around Julian and Elena. People were avoiding them.

I grabbed a glass of champagne and walked directly up behind them.

"Beautiful night for a sinking ship, isn't it?" I murmured.

Elena spun around. Her champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering on the marble floor. Her face drained of all blood, turning the color of ash.

Julian turned, his jaw dropping. He staggered back, knocking into the table. "M-Marcus?"

"Hello, Julian," I said, my voice smooth, devoid of any emotion. "Nice sweater you had on the other day. Shame about the mortgage."

"You... you're dead," Elena whispered, her whole body trembling.