Chaos erupted in the Magnificent Group's lobby like a bomb had detonated.
"Oh my God!" A woman in designer heels stumbled backward, her coffee cup shattering on the marble floor. "He just threw them through the window!"
"Call security!" someone shouted. "Call the police!"
I ignored the panicked voices and walked calmly to the leather seating area in the center of the lobby. The suited businessmen who'd been waiting scrambled away from me like I carried the plague. Their faces were white with terror as they pressed themselves against the far wall.
Good. Fear was a language everyone understood.
I settled into one of the expensive chairs and crossed my legs casually. Glass fragments crunched under my shoes as I shifted to get comfortable. The two guards I'd thrown through the window were still groaning somewhere behind me, but they weren't my concern anymore.
"I'm here to see Clara Vance," I announced to the room at large. "I'll wait."
The receptionist, a young woman with perfectly styled hair and a nameplate reading 'Jessica,' was frantically speaking into her headset. Her voice cracked with panic as she whispered urgent instructions to someone on the other end.
Within minutes, the distinctive sound of combat boots echoed through the lobby. A team of security personnel burst through the main doors, moving with military precision. Leading them was a man in his forties with graying temples and intelligent eyes that immediately marked him as different from the muscle-bound guards I'd already dealt with.
His uniform bore the insignia of a team leader, and the way the others deferred to him suggested significant experience. This wasn't some hired thug. This was a professional.
"Leon Ford, head of security," he announced, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the room. "You need to come with me. Now."
I looked up at him with mild interest. "Are you going to try to throw me out too?"
Leon's gaze flicked to the shattered window and the groaning guards. His jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "Sir, you've caused significant property damage and injured two employees. The police are on their way. I strongly suggest you cooperate."
"I'm waiting for Clara Vance," I repeated calmly. "When she's ready to see me, I'll go upstairs. Until then, I'm comfortable right here."
"President Vance doesn't take unscheduled meetings," Leon replied firmly. "Especially not with individuals who resort to violence."
I leaned back in the chair and studied him. There was steel in this man, the kind that came from real combat experience rather than gym workouts. He'd seen action somewhere, probably military or special forces. That made him dangerous, but it also made him smart enough to recognize when he was outclassed.
"Your men grabbed me first," I pointed out reasonably. "I defended myself. If they'd listened when I asked nicely, they'd still be conscious."
Leon's team shifted nervously behind him. They could sense the same thing their leader could - that something was fundamentally wrong with this situation. The thin young man in the faded t-shirt radiated a presence that made their instincts scream warnings.
"Sir, I don't want anyone else to get hurt," Leon said carefully. "But I have a job to do. You can't stay here."
"And I have business with your president," I replied. "So we have a problem."
The tension in the room ratcheted higher. Leon's hand drifted toward the radio on his belt, probably considering calling for backup. The other security guards were trying to look intimidating, but I could smell their fear-sweat from across the room.
I was about to demonstrate exactly why their weapons wouldn't matter when a new voice cut through the standoff.
"What's going on here?"
Every head in the lobby turned toward the elevator bank. A woman stepped out, her heels clicking authoritatively on the marble floor. She was perhaps twenty-five, with shoulder-length auburn hair and features that belonged on a magazine cover. Her business suit was impeccably tailored, and she moved with the confident grace of someone accustomed to being the most important person in any room.
But it wasn't her beauty or her obvious authority that made my breath catch in my throat.
It was her eyes. Those same warm brown eyes that had looked at me with kindness when the rest of the world saw only a pariah.
Chloe Pierce.
The name hit me like a physical blow. Memories I'd buried deep came rushing back with painful clarity. The funeral no one else would attend. The single figure standing beside two fresh graves while rain poured down like tears from heaven.
She'd been eighteen then, just a year older than me. Beautiful even in her grief-stained clothes, holding a black umbrella that barely protected her from the storm. While the rest of Everbrook City celebrated my family's downfall, Chloe Pierce had defied public opinion to give my parents the dignity of a proper burial.
I'd never forgotten that act of courage. That moment of pure human decency when everyone else had abandoned me.
Now here she was, five years later, clearly holding a position of significant authority in the Magnificent Group. The receptionist and security guards were looking at her with the kind of reverence usually reserved for royalty.
"Director Pierce," Leon said quickly, his relief obvious. "We have a situation. This individual has assaulted two of our guards and is refusing to leave. He claims he wants to see President Vance."
Chloe's gaze swept the scene, taking in the shattered window, the groaning guards, and the terrified businessmen still pressed against the wall. Then her eyes found mine, and for just a moment, something flickered across her face.
Recognition.
She knew exactly who I was.
"Stand down," she told Leon quietly. "All of you."
"Ma'am?" Leon looked confused. "But the situation-"
"I said stand down." Her voice carried absolute authority. "Return to your posts. I'll handle this."
The security team exchanged uncertain glances but began to back away. Leon lingered for a moment, clearly unhappy with the order, but eventually he too retreated. Within seconds, the lobby had mostly cleared, leaving just Chloe and me facing each other across the scattered glass.
She walked toward me slowly, her heels tapping out a rhythm that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. Up close, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. Success had given her a polish and confidence that made her practically glow with authority.
But there was something else in her expression. Something careful and calculating that I couldn't quite read.
"You know," she said conversationally, stopping just a few feet away, "you look exactly like someone I used to know."
My heart pounded against my ribs. She was being careful, playing some kind of game. But why?
"Do I?" I asked quietly.
She tilted her head, studying my face with theatrical consideration. "Yes. A boy from my hometown. We went to the same middle school." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "But that boy died five years ago. His whole family did."
The words hung in the air between us like a challenge. Everyone remaining in the lobby was watching us with fascination, probably wondering how this goddess of the corporate world knew the violent intruder.
"Maybe," I said carefully, "some people are harder to kill than others think."
A smile ghosted across her lips. Not the polite corporate smile she'd probably perfected over years of business meetings. This was something warmer, more genuine. Something that reminded me of the girl who'd stood in the rain at my parents' funeral.
"Perhaps," she agreed. "Though if such a person existed, if he'd somehow survived the impossible, I imagine he'd have very good reasons for staying dead. At least officially."
She turned to address the remaining staff and security personnel who were still watching from a safe distance.
"This gentleman is not a threat," she announced clearly. "He's... an old acquaintance. Someone who bears a striking resemblance to a childhood friend." Her smile became almost playful. "You all can return to your duties. I'll escort him out personally."
The dismissal was polite but absolute. Within moments, the lobby had returned to some semblance of normalcy, though I could see people stealing glances at us from behind newspapers and computer screens.
Chloe turned back to me, and for just an instant, her careful mask slipped. I saw genuine warmth there, mixed with something that might have been relief. Or maybe hope.
"You really do look remarkably like him," she said, loud enough for any eavesdroppers to hear. "It's quite uncanny, actually."
Then she leaned closer, close enough that her perfume filled my senses, and whispered so quietly that only I could hear:
"Welcome home, Aiden."