October 2011
The week leading up to the Chapman symposium was a blur of last-minute edits, travel coordination, and press outreach. Phoenix Fund's comms team had prepared a formal announcement of Ryan's honorary doctorate and speaking engagement, which had already drawn national business media attention.
But Ryan, even surrounded by excitement, carried that same quiet unease.
He hadn't told Leah the depth of it.
He couldn't.
Because how could he explain the feeling that this life—this timeline—felt like it was starting to thin around the edges?
---
Flight to Alton
They took a private Phoenix jet to the East Coast. Dylan remained behind to oversee a new investment round, while Ryan and Leah shared the flight cabin, both reviewing speech notes and future slides.
Leah: "I added that quote you liked from your first pitch deck. About building for people, not just profit."
Ryan (smiling faintly): "I barely remember writing that."
Leah: "It stuck with me. It's why I trusted you, even in the early chaos."
He reached across the seat divider, taking her hand briefly.
Ryan: "Remind me of that, when this is over."
Leah: "Of course. But over isn't a word we're using today."
Outside, clouds gathered thick over the Atlantic. Rain tapped the windows like restless fingers.
---
Back on Campus
Alton University had changed since the last time Ryan saw it.
Not in this life, but in the other one.
The red brick buildings were the same, but they felt further away somehow. Like he was walking through a place that had been built from memory, not stone. The quad, the student center, even the auditorium where he'd soon speak—they all had a softness around the edges, as if time were tugging at the realism.
Leah (noticing his distant expression): "You okay?"
Ryan: "Yeah. Just weird feeling like I'm visiting a place I know so well... when no one here knows me at all. It's like the strangest feeling of Deja Vu."
He hadn't just skipped this school in this timeline.
He'd erased it. And yet, now he was back, being celebrated by strangers who thought they had followed his journey from the beginning.
He smiled for the press, shook hands with the dean, and walked the hallways with scripted reverence.
But in his chest, that pressure was building again.
A static tension, like a radio tuned slightly off-frequency.
---
Evening Before the Speech
That night, in their hotel suite, Ryan stood at the window overlooking the quiet town below. Leah sat nearby, organizing the final cue cards.
Leah: "You want to run it one more time?"
Ryan (quietly): "No. I want to ask you something."
She looked up.
Ryan: "If tomorrow, everything we built... reset. If none of this existed anymore, but I was still me, would you believe me? Would you try to find me again?"
Leah (frowning gently): "Where is this coming from?"
Ryan: "Just answer. Please."
She stood and walked over to him.
Leah: "Yes. Every time. Even if I didn't remember you, I'd know. I'd feel it. That part wouldn't change."
He kissed her forehead, his arms tightening around her.
But the sense of unraveling had reached his bones now.
And somewhere deep within, something was beginning to shift.
---
The Speech
The auditorium buzzed with anticipation. Students filled every seat, faculty lined the aisles, and cameras streamed the event live across campus networks.
Ryan took the stage to applause, the honorary degree already draped over his shoulders. Leah sat in the front row, her eyes fixed on him, supportive and warm.
He started strong—an anecdote about risk, about building instead of waiting. He saw nods, heard laughter in the right places. The rhythm came easily.
Until his eyes drifted across the crowd.
And he saw her.
Second row, center-left. Blonde hair. Black blazer. The sharp tilt of her chin unmistakable.
Liz, or Elizabth Rush.
His fiancée from his first life. The one who had left when everything crumbled.
Next to her, slightly slouched, jaw tight, arms folded.
Vince Patel.
His former partner. The man who had taken what remained of his reputation and buried it.
Ryan faltered.
Just half a second.
Enough for Leah to notice. She straightened.
Ryan (to himself): That's what the feeling was. Not time. Not fate. Them.
He took a breath.
Then continued, adjusting his speech in real time.
He spoke not only about the beauty of opportunity but the cost of betrayal. About how the people who doubt you often return when it benefits them. About how reinvention isn't just possible—it's sometimes necessary.
The crowd leaned in.
Liz and Vince didn't move. Liz stared with a cold, unreadable face. Vince's expression was bitterly amused.
Ryan ended to thunderous applause.
As he exited the stage, Leah met him behind the curtain, immediately sensing the tension.
Leah: "What happened? I saw something shift."
Ryan (softly): "Ghosts. From before you knew me. But they won't touch what we have now."
Her hand slipped into his.
Leah: "Then let them haunt themselves. We've got bigger things ahead."
He nodded, but his mind churned.
Because ghosts don't appear for no reason.
And their reappearance was no coincidence.
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