The darkness of the archive was a physical presence, a heavy, velvet cloak that muffled sound and dulled the edges of the world. I stood just inside the door, my eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom. The only light was the faint sliver from the corridor I had just left, a thin, gray line that did little to penetrate the cavernous space. It was enough. I didn't need light to see. I needed it to find.
My movements were deliberate, silent. I was a ghost in this machine, a phantom in the heart of Charles's empire. I wasn't here to sift through his personal life or uncover the drama of his failed marriage. My target was specific, singular, and burned into the very fabric of my being: my father. The merger, the takeover, the corporate execution from seven years ago that had ruined my family and set me on this path.
