It was only days after Adam had discovered Sophia’s diagnosis—terminal, irreversible, the cruel mark of the Pandorion virus—when he found himself staring skyward on a rain-slicked pavement. The tower above loomed like a monolith, its chrome skin shimmering against the grey New York sky. His father’s building. No—his father’s throne.

  His gaze climbed upward, past rows of crystalline windows and spiraling drones, to the penthouse office—an altar in the clouds. In this city, penthouses weren’t homes. They were declarations. Declarations of sovereignty. Of power. Of a life where no one could say no to you.

  Adam swallowed a bitter mix of pride and resentment. Here he stood—cap in hand, choking down the humble pie of youthful illusion. The illusion that he could build his empire without ever needing the man who ruled this one.

  The truth? He could have funded Sophia’s treatment. He could have claimed the multi-million-dollar bug bounty for hacking Stipe Industries’ firewalls and antivirus systems—a feat no one else had managed. But doing so would expose him. And worse, it would expose her.

  The elevator hissed open on the top floor.

  “Good morning, Adam,” said the sleek android assistant stationed outside. Its voice was warm, female, polished—too perfect to be human. “Your father is expecting you. May I offer you dandelion coffee, or English breakfast tea?”

  Adam blinked. “No real coffee?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid our usual supplier failed to fulfil the order due to escalating climate volatility. I assure you—the dandelion and chicory blend is exceptional.”

  “Sure. Fine.” Adam frowned. His father never ran out of real coffee. Not for any price.

  He stepped into the office—vast, cold, and carved from marble like a Greek museum dedicated to ego. His father sat behind a white marble desk, draped in a banker’s suit two sizes too small for his bulk—a parody of Rodin’s Thinker, but with deeper frown lines and bloodshot eyes.

  “Hi, Adam. You okay, son?” Stan asked.

  “Yeah. Fine, Pops.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Adam sat without being invited. He wasn’t ten anymore.

  “I know we were supposed to meet over breakfast,” Stan said, patting his stomach. “But figured we’d do it here instead. Trying to lose a bit.”

  “Off the diet pills?”

  “Yeah. Cycling off. Let the body breathe.” He smiled. Then came the pause. “I’m glad you came. How’s the business doing? You... in profit yet? Thing is... I could use some of my investment back.”

  Adam blinked.

  For a moment, the roles flipped. He felt like the banker, and his father—just another desperate man asking for a loan. Then it clicked for Adam: no coffee, off the diet pills, no breakfast meeting in some swanky café… his father was seriously economising.

  Then the door clicked open.

  “Thought I heard your voice.”

  It was Alex. The golden child. Younger, slicker, more charismatic. Carrying two cups and a tray of biscuits like he was hosting a talk show.

  “Brought your dandelion coffee,” Alex said, grinning. “And some chocolate biscuits. Figured you’d want to break your diet—again.”

  Adam smirked coldly. His eyes flicked toward Stan, who was now vibrating with contained fury.

  “What brings you here, big brother? Out of cash again?”

  “Shut up and get out, you genetically designed idiot!” Stan roared, his voice a hammer blow of finality.

  Even Adam was stunned. Never—not as a child, not as a man—had he heard Stan talk to Alex like that. To him, yes. To their mother, sometimes. But not Alex. Never Alex.

  Alex stood frozen, jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the tray.

  Then, without a word, he turned and walked stiffly across the echoing marble floor, out through the glass doors.

  Silence returned.

  Adam turned to his father. “How bad is it?”

  Stan exhaled, the weight of failure dragging down his shoulders. He leaned forward, voice cracking.

  “Alex convinced me to invest in land—swore the fires were due to bad forestry management. Said it was a bargain.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t bad management. It was the climate. And also, New York’s now drowning. People are leaving in droves. I just need enough to keep the company going. Keep the banks from circling.”

  He looked up, eyes pleading. “Is there any of the investment left?”

  Adam didn’t answer right away. He stared at the desk, fingers to his chin, lost in thought. The Thinker, again.

  A thousand calculations passed through his mind—resentment, leverage, legacy. A hundred reasons to say no. But it was his father, after all. And despite their differences, despite his father's preferential treatment of Alex… he still loved him. There was also Sophia.

  Adam smiled.

  “I can’t stand to see you like this, old man.” His voice was soft. “Business is doing fine. We came into some capital recently.”

  Stan’s eyes lit up.

  “Will ten million see you through?” Adam asked.

  His father leaned back, stunned. A weight visibly lifted. For the first time in years, Adam saw something in his father’s eyes—admiration. The kind normally reserved for Alex.

  Adam would get the money. He’d claim the bug bounty. But he’d do it carefully, silently. Without endangering Sophia, his family or himself.