Chapter 6 No.6

The hangover from the night before wasn't from alcohol. It was a hangover of rage.

Alexander sat in his corner office at Vance Global. The view of the skyline was usually his favorite thing, a reminder of his dominion over the city. Today, the grey clouds just reminded him of the empty side of his bed.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Brandon was lounging on the leather sofa, scrolling through his phone. She was feral last night, Alex. Absolutely feral. Who knew the mute wife had claws? And how the hell did she know about the charity account? My dad actually called me this morning asking questions.

Alexander ignored him. He was looking at the divorce settlement on his desk.

Petitioner waives all rights to spousal support.

Petitioner waives all rights to marital assets.

She wanted nothing.

It bothered him. If she had asked for half his fortune, he would have understood. That was a transaction. That was business. But asking for nothing? That was a statement. It meant she valued getting away from him more than she valued his billions.

His intercom buzzed.

Mr. Vance, his secretary's voice was crisp. Dean Ivanovich from Harvard Medical School is on line one.

Alexander straightened up. This was important.

Put him through.

He picked up the receiver. Dean Ivanovich. To what do I owe the pleasure?

The Dean's voice was serious, heavy with authority. Alexander. I'm calling about a favor. And a recommendation.

Go on, Alexander said.

We have a researcher. A ghost, really. Goes by the code name 'Oracle'. This person is the top of the field in neuro-regeneration. Their papers are revolutionizing how we treat nerve damage.

Alexander gripped the phone tighter. Neuro-regeneration? For... Scarlett's condition?

Scarlett's heart condition was complicated by nerve damage from the 'incident' in the mine three years ago. Or so the doctors said.

Potentially, the Dean said. But 'Oracle' is elusive. They don't take private clients. They don't do consults. I'm trying to set up a meeting for you.

Do it, Alexander commanded. Name the price.

One thing, the Dean added, hesitating slightly. The Oracle is... unconventional. Don't let your bias get in the way.

I don't care if the Oracle is a parrot, Alexander said. If they can fix Scarlett, I want them.

He hung up, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

Meanwhile, in the Guest Suite of the Vance Penthouse.

Evelyn sat at the small desk she had dragged near the window. The room was sparse, but she had transformed it into a command center. A secure laptop was open, displaying complex chemical formulas and anatomical diagrams.

She was wearing a silk robe, sipping black coffee. She hadn't left the apartment since the club, avoiding Alexander by staying behind the locked door of the guest wing.

An encrypted email popped up on her screen.

Sender: Dean Ivanovich.

Subject: Vance Inquiry.

Message: He is asking for you. He is desperate.

Evelyn stared at the screen. A small, dry smile touched her lips.

She typed back: Let him wait.

She closed the email and opened a file named "Project: Oracle."

Her phone rang. It wasn't the number Alexander had. It was a burner phone.

She answered. Speak.

Mentor? a nervous voice cracked on the other end. It was Professor Lin, the head of the Neurology Department at Sterling University Medical Center. A man in his fifties, terrified of a twenty-year-old.

The data on the Vance case is incomplete, Evelyn said, her voice dropping into a professional, commanding register. I reviewed the scans you uploaded to the secure server. You missed the scarring on the left ventricle.

I'm sorry, Mentor, Lin stammered. I... I will fix it.

Evelyn sighed, rubbing her temples. No. I'll come to the Medical Center tomorrow. Incognito. I need to see the raw data myself.

She hung up.

She stood up and walked to the bookshelf in the guest room. There, wedged between a few novels, was a textbook: Introduction to Art History.

She pulled it out. It was the prop she had carried around the penthouse for three years to convince Alexander she was simple. Harmless.

She looked at the cover.

She walked to the trash can and dropped it in.

The heavy thud of the book hitting the bottom of the bin echoed in the room.

The actress is retired, she whispered to the empty room. The Oracle is back.