Chapter 4 Six Years Later: The Ghost Returns

The skyline of New Orleans glimmered under a sickly dusk; the city's pulse uneven. Once, the name Gordonis lit up the city like gospel. Now it clung like a curse to the crumbling towers of Gordonis Corporation.

Inside the top floor of the glass monolith that housed the company, Tom Gordonis sat stiff in a leather chair far too big for his shrinking confidence. The marble desk before him was strewn with newspapers and reports: Financial Disaster Looms for Gordonis Corp, Once Golden Empire Bleeds Out Investors, Whispers of Corruption and Collapse.

He rubbed his temples, the soft sound of classical music from the corner radio failing to soothe the growing panic under his skin.

"Cut the music," he snapped.

The assistant outside the door heard it and killed the soft Beethoven. Silence swallowed the office, giving room for the anxiety to breathe louder.

The last six years had been a storm.

He had clawed his way to the top, stolen it from Andre, and now it was slipping through his fingers. Every step forward brought two collapses. Whispers in boardrooms. Emails gone unanswered. Media digging up ghosts.

The ghost of Andre Gordonis still haunted the building.

The ghost of a brother he betrayed.

The door opened with a soft click. Angela White stepped inside, heels echoing across the polished floor like gavel strikes.

She didn't sit.

"I've received word," she said, always direct. "They smell blood. Your competitors. The vultures are circling."

Tom's jaw clenched. "I need numbers. Not riddles."

"You want numbers? Here." She dropped a file onto his desk. "In the last four months, six investors have pulled out. Three mergers failed. And now there are rumors of an anonymous group buying shares behind your back."

Tom's eyes scanned the file. "Who?"

Angela folded her arms. "That's the problem. No one knows. Just that the money's clean, fast, and aggressive. And today... they reached out."

Tom's gaze snapped to her.

"An offer?"

She nodded. "An investment proposal. Enough to buy you time. Maybe even turn this around."

He leaned forward. "Who's behind it?"

She hesitated.

"They call him Don Alaric."

The name sliced through the air like a blade.

Tom froze. "What kind of name is that?"

"The kind that comes from nowhere," Angela said. "There are no records. No social security. No photos. Just... a trail of perfectly timed moves. He's made a fortune overseas. Russian mining, Gulf logistics, Central American crypto vaults."

"And he wants us?" Tom asked, disbelief lacing his voice.

"He's not after the company," she said slowly. "He wants access. Prestige. A base in America. Your empire...what's left of it....gives him that."

Tom leaned back, calculating. "And the catch?"

Angela opened another folder. "One unusual condition."

She slid the paper to him.

Tom read it, then frowned.

"He wants Hermosa?"

Angela gave a slow nod. "As his personal liaison. She'll report directly to him."

Tom felt the first pang of warning in his gut. Hermosa had been quiet for years, loyal, buried in mid-level management roles after the trial. She'd distanced herself from it all, but this could drag her back into the spotlight.

"He knows about her?" he asked.

Angela's lips twitched faintly. "Maybe. Maybe more than we think."

Tom's fingers tightened around the edge of the paper. "This smells like trouble."

"It smells like salvation," Angela countered. "Unless you have another ghost billionaire in your pocket, I suggest we play his game."

Tom hesitated... then sighed, the weight of six years of deception pressing down like iron.

"Fine," he murmured. "Set the meeting."

---

It was held after midnight, in a private underground vault beneath the French Quarter. No cameras. No media. Just Tom, Angela, and four silent guards standing by.

The room was empty save for a long black table and two chairs.

Tom paced nervously.

Then, footsteps.

Soft. Purposeful.

He turned as the door opened and a man entered, flanked by two masked security agents.

Tall. Dressed in a midnight three-piece suit tailored with violent precision. Leather gloves. A black velvet mask covered the upper half of his face, casting sharp shadows over a mouth that neither smiled nor frowned. His presence was a weapon.

Tom's throat dried.

"Mr. Gordonis," the man said, his voice low, controlled, like it had been forged in embers.

"I... You must be Don Alaric," Tom managed, forcing composure.

Don Alaric gave a shallow nod. "Let's discuss business."

He sat. The guards never left his side.

Angela placed the contract on the table. "The terms are clear. A 27% stake in Gordonis Corp in exchange for liquid capital, PR recovery, and foreign investor connections."

Tom slid the documents forward. "And you'll keep the company afloat?"

Don Alaric tapped the table once. "I'll rebuild it. If you agree to my one condition."

He already knew the answer, but he waited like a predator stalking compliance.

Tom swallowed hard. "Hermosa Rodriguez. She'll report to you?"

Alaric didn't blink. "She'll represent you. If you still want your company to have a future."

There was no room for discussion.

The mask shifted slightly as if daring Tom to refuse.

Tom stared at the black ink of the signature line. His pen hovered, then dropped. A flourish later, the deal was signed.

"Done," he said quietly.

Don Alaric stood.

"Excellent," he said, then turned toward the door. "My liaison begins tomorrow."

--

The knock on the door was brisk.

Hermosa Rodriguez looked up from her reports, her heart skipping. She hadn't seen Tom in weeks. Not since the last merger disaster.

When he entered, his expression was tight. Not angry. Not tired. Just... burdened.

"We're out of time," he said. "But someone just bought us more."

She stood. "What are you talking about?"

"An investor," Tom said. "He's agreed to rescue us. Don Alaric."

She frowned. "Never heard of him."

"No one has," he replied grimly. "He's rich, elusive, and brilliant. And he wants you."

Hermosa's breath caught. "What?"

"He asked for you by name. Said he'd only sign if you acted as his liaison."

Hermosa's face went pale. "Why me?"

Tom paused, just a flicker. "Maybe because of your trial testimony. Maybe because you know how we operate. Or maybe he just wants someone... loyal."

Hermosa bristled.

"You think I wanted any of what happened back then?" she asked.

Tom raised a hand. "This isn't about the past. It's about survival. You're assigned to our new investor. Don't screw this up."

She swallowed the protest rising in her throat.

"Fine," she said quietly. "When do I meet him?"

Tom's eyes lingered on hers for a second too long.

"He's already on his way."