Alan Turner had carved this building from nothing to the empire it was now.
Thirty-three floors below his glass-walled office, Nyros Headquarters thrummed with electric anticipation.
Clinks of champagne flutes, hums of polished voices and the relentless snap of camera shutters. They filled everywhere, even the air, making it clear that something big was happening today.
Executives in fine suits and influencers in curated outfits toasted to the future. Digital banners streamed across the skyline with bold letters proclaiming:
'Nyros: Powering the Future of Finance'
The world was celebrating a revolution. And by the world, that was everyone who was involved in business— everyone except the man who had sparked it.
Alan stood alone in the executive suite, his reflection a ghost in the floor-to-ceiling windows.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his tie a loosened noose around his neck. A glass of whiskey dangled untouched in his hand, the amber liquid catching the city's glow.
To the world, he was a titan, a fintech prodigy who'd reshaped global markets. Beneath the bespoke suit and the press-crafted smile, though, was a man hollowed out by exhaustion, his sharp edges dulled by doubt.
All he could think of was the years that had passed that led to this moment.
Twelve years. From a roach-infested one-bedroom in Queens to the penthouse of the world's most secure financial infrastructure, Alan had fought his way to the top with grit, sleepless nights, and a mind that could outmaneuver steel traps.
His company, Nyros, was now a masterpiece.
He had created it to rebel against a system that rewarded greed over genius. It was untouchable, a fortress of code and ambition that no competitor could breach.
So why did victory taste like ash?
ZZZZZZZ!
Alan's phone buzzed, snapping him from the spiral.
The screen lit up with a name: Iris Hale.
He read her message with an expressionless look on his face. 'Come downstairs. You need to see this. Now.'
Alan frowned— somehow managed to even though he was already frowning before.
Iris never texted like that. Iris was the company's voice, its public face, and, for the last three years, his partner in ways that blurred the lines between boardroom and bedroom.
But, she had never ordered him the way she just did and that was the first thing that threw Alan off.
He tossed back the whiskey. "What now, Iris?" he muttered, as if the city itself might answer. He straightened his tie, set the glass down and strode out.
The launch stage was a supernova of light and sound. Spotlights crisscrossed the cavernous hall where a sea of journalists, streamers, and venture capitalists were present.
Cameras perched like vultures on cranes, multiple screens were in different directions to broadcast the event live.
At the center of the chaos stood Iris Hale, radiant with her brown hair and a crimson dress that hugged her like a second skin.
She had a masterpiece of a smile, honed by decades of media coaching, warm enough to charm, sharp enough to cut.
Beside her was Evan Reyes, co-founder, childhood friend, the only person who'd seen Alan at his lowest— sharing a mattress in a freezing startup flat, fighting off lawsuits, burying secrets no one else could know.
Evan wore an exquisite suit that Alan had gotten him, but his eyes were guarded, his jaw tight.
Alan caught his gaze as he approached the stage, and then he nodded at him casually.
Evan didn't nod back. He completely pretended not to have seen him.
That too, was odd.
Alan's steps faltered, and he began to feel uneasy, deep in his gut.
'Something feels wrong.'
He decided to ignore the feeling for now and climbed the steps to join them. The crowd's applause swelled, and Alan forced a smile for them, one he'd perfected for magazine covers.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Iris began, her voice slicing through the noise like a blade. "Thank you for joining us to witness the next chapter of Nyros. Tonight, we unveil not only a product, but a new era."
The crowd hushed, hanging on her every word. Alan's eyes flicked to Evan, then back to Iris.
'What is this feeling I'm having, like something bad is about to happen?'
"Effective today," Iris continued, "we are proud to announce that Nyros will be entering a strategic acquisition deal with Vanguard Synertech."
Alan's heart lurched.
'What the hell?'
Did he just hear that right? Vanguard Synertech?
The same corporate behemoth that had spent years trying to strangle crypto in its crib? The same one that had tried to partner with him and he refused over and over?
He'd never agreed to any of this!
Alan opened his mouth, but Iris pressed on, her voice smooth as silk.
"And along with this shift, our board has approved a realignment of leadership."
The massive screens behind her flickered on, and Alan's face appeared, next to the words:
ALAN TURNER - FOUNDER & CEO: TERMINATED
Alan looked at the display, and even though s stinging pain struck his heart as he realized he'd been betrayed, all he could do... was laugh.
It burst from his throat, sharp and raw.
The laughter continued through the stunned silence, drawing every eye in the room. Iris and Evan stared at him.
It was completely absurd.
Not him laughing. Rather, them.
The sheer audacity that they had. Terminated? They terminated him?
The man who'd coded Nyros's first algorithm on a secondhand laptop?
Who did they think they were?
Evan cleared his throat, stepping to the mic. "Alan, this isn't personal. It's what's best for Nyros. For the future."
Alan climbed the final step onto the stage, the cameras swiveling to capture his every move. He turned to Evan. "Not personal? You stab me in the back on the biggest night of our lives, and you say it's not personal?"
He pivoted to Iris, his eyes blazing. "You forged the board votes, didn't you? Or did you just charm them into it, like you do everyone else?"
The crowd gasped, whispers rippling through the room.
Iris remained cool. "You built something brilliant, Alan. No one's denying that. But brilliance isn't enough. Investors want stability, predictability. You were… erratic. Unstable."
"Unstable?" The word was a spark to gasoline. Alan's laugh was bitter now, edged with fury. "I'm the one who kept this company alive. I said no to buyouts, no to corruption, no to Vanguard's blood money when they tried to bury crypto two years ago. And you call me unstable?"
Evan raised the folder. "We have documented evidence— misconduct, financial opacity, unilateral decisions without board approval. You left us no choice."
Alan's eyes narrowed. "You mean I stopped you from selling our soul to the same vultures who'd gut Nyros for parts. That's what this is, isn't it? You got tired of fighting, so you took their deal."
The crowd was a sea of murmurs now, phones raised, livestreams capturing every second.
Alan turned to them, his voice rising, raw and unfiltered. "You all know me. Twelve years, no outside capital, no compromises. I built this company from a folding table in a basement. I refused to bend, and this is my reward? A scripted coup on the night we were supposed to change the world?"
Silence fell, heavy and electric. For a moment, it felt like the room was his again.
Then Iris stepped forward, her voice soft but piercing. "You refused to evolve, Alan. The world is moving forward. Nyros needs to move with it. You're not part of that future."
"Says the woman who slept with ten board members to secure her own future."
Gasps! Loud ones. More phones started recording.
Iris's eyes glared at him, as if to say 'How dare you?!'
How dare he? Well how dare she?!
Security guards appeared at the stage's edge, their faces blank but purposeful.
Alan's gaze flicked to Evan, searching for the friend he'd once known. "You sold me out for a corner office and a pat on the head. You forgot, Evan, I built the table you're sitting at."
Evan admitted to himself, he was terrified and confused of how calm Alan was acting. He'd just lost a multimillion dollar company and this was how he was reacting?
"Alan, please leave the stage or the security guards will remove you themselves."
Alan laughed. "That's okay. I'm leaving."
Silently, he sauntered down from the stage as camera flashes followed, alongside curious eyes as Alan Turner quietly left the house that he built.
He got in his car and began to drive, ignoring the rain.
Actually, it was better to drive in the rain. There was something heavenly and soothing about it.
Perhaps that was exactly what Alan needed.
He didn't speak to the AI assistant, didn't call anyone. His fingers closed around a small, sleek USB drive in his pocket— a prototype wallet for a decentralized coin he'd developed in secret, inspired by Bitcoin but with upgrades he created.
It was more than a project; it was a vision. Something purer than Nyros, untethered from corporate games. A future no one could steal.
The cabin's ambient lights flickered, stunning him briefly. Then the car swerved violently.
"Warning," the AI's voice chimed. "Brake system is unresponsive."
"Ngh! Fuck!"
He jammed hard on the brake but it wouldn't work.
'Those bastards! They jammed my brakes! Stealing my company wasn't enough! They wanted me dead!'
"Ngh!"
He swerved and— Crash!
Alan struck the balustrade of the bridge, causing his car to spin over.
Concrete blurred past the windows, metal crunched, glass shattered like brittle bones, and darkness swallowed him whole.
Crash! Boom!
The car shattered on the ground below, just before the river.
Alan was upside down, the seatbelt a vise against his chest. Blood coated his throat, warm and metallic. Rain tapped the shattered windshield, and the night outside suddenly felt eerily still.
He realized that he couldn't breathe, and the pain in his head, ribs and neck was going to kill him soon.
Alan laughed. Again.
A broken, wheezing sound that clearly showed pain, not humor.
A cough followed, then a sob he barely recognized as his own. "So this is how it ends," he rasped, voice barely a whisper. "No blaze of glory. Half a legacy. And then… lies."
His fingers, slick with blood, tightened around the USB drive. "I would have loved to launch you bad boy..."
"But..." his vision began to dim. "...maybe in another life..."
...
...
...
Ding!
[BUSINESS PIONEER SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
[WELCOME, ALAN TURNER. WOULD YOU LIKE TO REWRITE HISTORY?]
Death's cold fingers had already embraced him, but Alan felt his mind speak, even though he didn't fully understand what was happening.
"Yes," he whispered.
[CONGRATULATIONS,
YOU ARE NOW A BUSINESS PIONEER CANDIDATE!]
[REWINDING…]
[REWINDING...]
[REGRESSION IS SET AT SEVENTEEN YEARS]
Alan stared at the yellow interface before him, trying his best to understand. "Regre... Regression...?"