Chapter 4

An email from Jocelyn's assistant arrives: "Mrs. Lind requests your presence at a family dinner in Dallas. 7 PM. Black tie."

It's not a request; it's a summons.

I fly to Dallas on the Lind family's private jet, a silent, solitary journey. I'm met by a driver who doesn't speak my name and driven to the mansion that still haunts my memories.

The dinner is as tense as I expected. Jocelyn's father, a cold patriarch, presides over the table with an iron will. Jocelyn sits beside him, a perfect, icy statue. And across from me are her brothers, William and James, their faces flushed with arrogance and whiskey.

They ignore me for the first hour, discussing business, their voices loud and boastful. But I'm listening. I'm always listening. They're complaining about market volatility, about a new, disruptive player that's eating into their profits.

Finally, James turns his attention to me. "So, Ethan," he says, his voice dripping with false concern. "How's the... home front? Kids behaving? Getting your beauty sleep?"

"Everything is under control," I reply, my voice even.

William laughs, a harsh, barking sound. "Under control. I like that. You hear that, James? He's got things under control. Meanwhile, the rest of us are getting our asses handed to us by some ghost."

He leans forward, his eyes glinting. "You know, it's a funny thing. This new FinTech company that's screwing us over, Apex Innovations. The founder is anonymous, a complete mystery. But you know what name is on the incorporation documents?"

He pauses for dramatic effect. "Lester. Some brilliant, ruthless guy named Lester is conquering Wall Street."

He looks directly at me, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "And here you are, another Lester, worrying about whether the organic quinoa is gluten-free. What a contrast."

The table falls silent. Jocelyn's father looks at me with open disgust. Jocelyn's jaw is tight, but she says nothing. She never intervenes at these family events. It's part of our unspoken agreement. This is my cross to bear.

"They say this Apex is a shark," James continues, piling on. "They use predictive algorithms to make trades milliseconds before the market can react. Our firm, with its hundred years of tradition, can't keep up. We're bleeding money."

He takes a large gulp of wine. "Imagine that. A Lester changing the world, while our sister is married to... you."

I don't flinch. I don't defend myself. I just sit there, a blank slate, enduring the humiliation. I let them see me as weak, pathetic, a failure.

Inside, I'm cataloging every word. Every complaint about their failing strategies, every admission of their vulnerabilities. They are handing me the blueprint for their own destruction.

And they have no idea they're talking to the shark himself.