Gabriel Kane stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, a glass of scotch in one hand and a remote in the other. The television across the room droned on, muted, broadcasting the morning financial news. Stocks are rising. Markets are shifting. All predictable. All beneath him.
His reflection in the glass stared back at him—immaculate suit, silver cufflinks, and the same unreadable expression he'd mastered years ago. He sipped the scotch. Smooth. Expensive. Just like everything else in his life now.
But despite the comforts, there was a subtle itch under his skin—an unease he couldn't name.
He turned from the window and walked across the living room, where sleek lines and modern minimalism masked the countless deals, betrayals, and secrets that had built his world. He sat on the edge of a leather couch, set the glass down, and picked up a slim file folder resting on the table. Vercetti Global.
Leon Vercetti's name stared up at him in bold type.
Ten years ago, this file had been one of a dozen he'd studied before making his move. Back when loyalty was still a game he pretended to play.
Now, the company was thriving again. Or at least… stirring. Something had shifted.
Gabriel flipped open the file, and his suspicion deepened. The latest whispers suggested Vercetti was making bold decisions—strategies too sharp, too precise for the Leon he remembered. It didn't add up.
"People don't change overnight," he muttered.
He leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Maybe Leon had found help. Perhaps someone was guiding him. Or maybe…
No. That was impossible. Change was not something Gabriel was ready to accept.
Leon Vercetti was dead. Or at least, he had been—on the inside and hollowed out by betrayal and naivety.
So what was this sudden fire? This resurgence?
Gabriel's phone buzzed. A message flashed across the screen.
Victor Lang: Contact made. He didn't bite. He's sharper than expected.
Gabriel's jaw tightened. That was fast.
He typed back:
Keep watching him. Discreetly. If he changes the board's direction, I want to know before he makes any changes.
He set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Something had changed.
And Gabriel Kane didn't like surprises.
Not from dead men.
Leon stood on the rooftop of Vercetti Global's office building, the wind tugging at his sleeves as the city sprawled beneath him like a concrete jungle of ambition and illusion.
He lit a cigarette—not out of habit, but for the ritual of stillness it brought. In his previous life, he would've been inside, poring over numbers, missing the signs. Missing him.
Gabriel Kane.
The name echoed in his mind like a bell tolling betrayal.
Leon hadn't yet made his presence known to Gabriel—not entirely. Not directly. But he knew the man well enough to predict his every reaction. Gabriel would be watching. Testing. He wouldn't strike immediately. No, he'd study his prey first. That was his style.
Leon's confidence in his strategy was unwavering, giving him a sense of control. He knew he had time. Not much. But enough.
He exhaled smoke slowly, his gaze fixed on the streets below.
"I know you're out there, Gabriel," he murmured. "But this time, I'm not the one in the dark."
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
It was Elena.
Elena: Loan meeting confirmed for 2 PM. The bank rep's name is Thomas Weller. Bring your A-game.
He smirked. "As if I have anything else."
He crushed the cigarette underfoot and headed back inside, thoughts already turning.
Leon's determination was palpable. The loan was critical, but he wasn't just after money. He was after momentum, reputation, and power. The kind that could tip the balance before Gabriel even made his first move.
He took the elevator down to the tenth floor, where the executive team had set up a temporary war room. Elena was already there, scrolling through documents. Daniel trailed behind her with two coffees, barely keeping up.
"You're early," she said, not looking up.
"So are you."
She glanced at him over the rim of her glasses, her dedication evident. "I don't sleep much these days."
"Good. You'll fit right in."
He took the coffee Daniel offered, nodding. "Thanks."
Daniel yawned. "Any idea why this Weller guy agreed so fast to meet us? The bank's been dragging their feet for weeks."
Leon sipped his coffee. "Because I changed the rules."
Elena looked up. "What did you do?"
"I leaked projections of our upcoming R&D portfolio to a few key industry analysts. Quietly. The buzz hit this morning. Weller thinks he's chasing the next big thing."
Daniel blinked. "You played the bank?"
"I played their greed."
He set his coffee down.
"We don't need to beg for capital anymore. Let them come to us."
Elena leaned back in her chair. "You're not who I expected, Leon."
He smiled faintly.
"No," he said. "I'm not."
Two hours later, Leon entered the towering glass headquarters of Valor Bank, the city's most conservative financial institution.
The marble floors gleamed like polished mirrors, and a crystal chandelier hung like a crown over the lobby. Leon remembered this place from before—remembered sitting across from bankers who saw him as too ambitious, too green, and too unpredictable. But now, as he stepped into the familiar grandeur, he felt a surge of confidence. He was no longer the young entrepreneur they once dismissed. He was a force to be reckoned with.
Now, he smiled as the receptionist gestured for him to take the private elevator.
Thomas Weller's office was on the top floor.
Elena and Daniel flanked him as the elevator rose in silence, only the soft hum of the machinery filling the space.
"I've reviewed Weller's portfolio," Elena said, holding up her tablet. "He's risk-averse. Invests mainly in tech when it's already mature. His Achilles heel is FOMO. If he thinks he's missing out on something revolutionary, he folds.
Leon nodded. "Then we'll give him something worth fearing."
The doors slid open to reveal an elegantly minimalist suite of offices. A woman greeted them with polite efficiency and led them into a conference room of cold steel and warm wood.
Sunlight poured in through angled windows, casting sharp shadows on the table.
Thomas Weller was already seated, dressed in a trim charcoal suit. His hair was graying, but his eyes were sharp and calculating.
"Mr. Vercetti," he said, standing to shake hands. "Pleasure to finally meet in person."
Leon gripped his hand firmly. "Likewise."
Weller gestured for them to sit, flipping open a leather folder. "I must say, your company's resurgence has made quite the impression. There's… buzz."
Leon kept his smile measured. "Buzz can be misleading. But numbers?" He slid a folder across the table. "They don't lie."
Weller opened it, eyes scanning. Projections, tech prototypes, upcoming partnerships—details Leon remembered only too well. He had once watched them bloom and collapse, and this time, he'd pruned the failures before they could grow. The weight of those past experiences was evident in every decision he had made.
Weller leaned back.
"You've done your homework."
"I lived it," Leon replied evenly.
Elena added, "Our R&D will outpace competitors within eighteen months. The only question is, do you want to be the bank that funded it first—or the one that missed out?"
Weller tapped a pen against the table, thoughtful. "You're very confident."
Leon looked him dead in the eyes.
"I died once, Mr. Weller," he said quietly. "Not again."
Silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain, each second stretching into an eternity.
Weller's pen stilled.
Then he smiled.
"I like risk-takers. But only the ones who know when to hedge."
He extended his hand again. "We'll start with thirty million."
Daniel let out a breath. Elena blinked. Leon took Weller's hand.
"Then you've just bought yourself a front-row seat to history."