AN: Thanks for the ps. Held top 10 position. Nice.
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John sat on the couch across from Alex. He took a deep breath before speaking.
"It's SPECTRE," he said. "That's the name Rachel gave me. They're not the kind of people who attack directly. They'll go after your reputation first. Smear campaigns, forged evidence, fake witnesses. If that doesn't work, they'll escalate. Probably frame you for murder, drugs, or something that sticks."
'Wait! Spectre? As in James Bond Spectre? Fuck!' Alex leaned back as he tried to remember everything he could about Spectre. He said in a low voice, "So they want to destroy me without firing a bullet."
"Exactly. The High Table operators are already digging into it. But from here on out, you need to watch every move you make. Every call, every meeting, every trip. You'll have to maintain airtight alibis at all times."
Alex nodded slowly. "And what about the girls? If they're coming after me, they could be in danger too."
John shook his head. "Rachel already thought of that. She's got the best guards watching over them. Discreet, loyal, and heavily armed. No one gets close. And we also have the best cyber team on the side. They will take care of the media and internet part."
Alex exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've got plenty of enemies, sure, but SPECTRE? That's not exactly a group you bump into by accident. This must be related to my buying the Tokyo hotel. Or..."
John narrowed his eyes. "You remember something?"
"Yeah, I mean, I used to churn out short stories and short novels back when I was still at the bottom, and I think I've written a script for a spy movie..." Alex said as he tried to think back six years ago, when he first got the system. "...and if I remember correctly, Spectre was the main villain/shadow organization in that story, and they also used the same tactics to go after the MC of the story. Coincidence? Maybe. Can we dismiss it as a coincidence? Nope."
He stood up and grabbed his jacket.
"Let's go. I gotta find that old script, and if my hunch is correct, we might get some clues from my old notes. I have too many things in my head to remember everything clearly, even with my photographic memory. It's hard to believe, but memory degradation is a real thing."
..
[Alex's 2nd Penthouse – Private Studio] [Night]
The elevator doors opened, but something felt off the second they stepped out. No green lights blinking on the wall panels. The security system seems to be down.
Alex's eyes narrowed. "That's not a good sign."
John stepped ahead, hand instinctively moving to the gun holstered under his jacket. When they reached the penthouse door, the lock was broken. Both the digital and the good old lock. It looked like a professional job.
"Stay here," John said quietly. He drew his handgun and tapped his earpiece. "All units, possible breach. Code two. Spread and secure the perimeter."
"Copy that," came the response.
John nudged the door open and stepped inside. The soft crunch of broken glass echoed faintly as he swept the room, gun raised. The place was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the windows. He switched on the lights.
Papers were scattered everywhere, canvases slashed and overturned, drawers ripped from their slots.
He checked each room methodically. After a minute, he reappeared in the doorway, his expression grim. "Clear. But it's bad."
Alex stepped inside. His studio, once his quiet refuge, looked like a war zone. Torn scripts littered the floor, the remains of old scripts fluttering under the air conditioning vent. Paintings were ripped apart, their frames smashed.
He moved slowly across the room, eyes scanning the wreckage. His heart sank when he saw the torn remains of his old sketchbooks, the ones he'd filled back when he had nothing but ideas and drive. He crouched down and picked up a torn canvas — a portrait of Max, her smile half-destroyed by a knife slash that ran straight through her painted face. He was planning to surprise her with the painting on their next date night, but...
For a long moment, he didn't say anything. Just stared at it.
John watched him, staying silent. He'd seen Alex angry before, but this was different. This wasn't the sharp, controlled anger he used when dealing with rivals. This was something colder, deeper.
Alex slowly stood up, the shredded painting still in his hands. "They knew what they were doing," he said quietly. "They didn't come for the money or steal something. They came for this. They wanted to send a message."
John nodded. "SPECTRE's style. Psychological warfare. They hit where it hurts. Most take wrong steps in anger and walk straight into their traps. You need to let that anger go. Be patient and tread carefully."
Alex's jaw tightened. "I will be patient." He looked around at the wreckage again, then looked at the torn painting. "Whoever did this," he said in a cold voice, "I'm gonna shred those motherfuckers to pieces... carefully with patience."
He looked toward John. "Speaking of careful. Let's get the cops involved to avoid unnecessary future troubles, like... Why didn't you call the police? Well, after all the donations, they'd better do their job. Spectre wants Psychological warfare... I'll show what real terror means and of course the power of the world's number 1 richest man."
..
[10:47 PM]
Alex stood by the window, hands in his pockets, looking calm. 15 minutes earlier, he made one call—directly to Chloe. He skipped every detail about SPECTRE and the deeper layers of the threat. He just told her there'd been a break-in and asked her to keep it quiet for now.
Now the cavalry had arrived.
The elevator pinged and out stepped Chloe in a leather jacket and jeans, followed by Kate Beckett, Richard Castle, and Ray White.
"Alex," Chloe said, walking up to him, voice steady but her eyes searching his face. "You alright?"
"I'm fine," Alex replied quietly. "Place isn't. They simply destroyed my work and memories... lots of memories."
Kate walked past them, scanning the wreckage with a detective's eye. "Forced entry on both locks. Clean cuts, professional tools. Whoever broke in knew what they were doing."
Ray walked over and crouched beside the ruined desk, gloved hands inspecting a half-burned USB drive. "Looks like they tried to destroy data. Not your typical robbery."
"Nothing worth destroying thought. They contained old scripts and sketches," Alex replied as he watched the team work. He then noticed Castle. For a moment, he mistook him for Nolan, but seeing Kate and him together... 'Castle TV series got mixed up too?! C'mon, System, can't you at least inform me before adding new scenarios?'
Castle, meanwhile, had frozen mid-step the moment he saw Alex. His jaw actually dropped. "Oh. My. God." He turned to Kate. "Do you know who this is? This is Alex Wilson. Titan Studios. Hollywood's Golden Boy. Creator of Marvel and DC. The Alex Wilson. Writer of Silent Hill: City of Ashes, Forrest Gump, American Beauty—"
"Castle," Kate warned.
"—Star Wars! And The Hobbit Trilogy! You're basically Spielberg with abs." He looked back at Alex and continued. "Mr. Wilson, I loved your movies too. I watched Titanic like 10 times, and Lost in Translation was just phenomenal. But I have to say, my favorite among all your movies is Alien. That movie was just... Best of the best. And I'm looking forward to seeing your acting debut in Mr. & Mrs. Smith. By the way, are you by any chance planning on writing another Star Wars novel?"
Alex smirked slightly. "Appreciate the enthusiasm. And yes, I plan to write another novel. Probably next year."
Kate sighed. "Ignore him. He fanboys over anyone with a camera."
Chloe shot Alex a look that was part apology, part amusement. "He's been like that since we landed."
"Don't worry," Alex said with a faint smile. "At least someone appreciates my insomnia." He extended his hand toward Castle, who shook it with a happy grin.
"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Richard Castle."
Alex gave a little nod. "I know. I read your books. Derrick Storm series, Nikki Heat series. They were really interesting, but I have to say..."
Castle pointed a knowing finger at him. "I know, they destroyed the live-action adaptation."
"Yep! It was horrible. They butchered the original content and messed up the whole thing," Alex agreed. He then took out his card and gave it to Castle. "After this mess is sorted out, call me. I'm interested in making a movie on your Nikki Heat novel."
"You serious?" Castle asked, and from his voice, it was clear that he couldn't believe he got such a big offer like that.
"Yeah," Alex nodded.
Kate then walked over to Alex and started asking questions.
She pulled out her notepad, flipping it open. "Mr. Wilson, I'll try to keep this brief. Do you have any idea who might have done this? Anyone who's threatened you recently or seemed suspicious?"
Alex glanced at the ruined desk, then back at her. "I've made my fair share of enemies, Detective. Competitors, ex-employees, people who didn't like losing. But this?" He gestured at the devastation around them. "This wasn't business rivalry. This was personal."
Kate nodded, jotting notes. "Did you notice anyone hanging around your building today? Delivery people, maintenance, maybe a face that didn't belong?"
Alex shook his head. "Not that I can think of. But maybe the security cameras picked something up. I'll have my team send them."
Kate nodded. "That would be great." She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and tapped the screen before holding it up for Alex to see. "Do you recognize this man?"
Alex leaned closer. The image showed Jerry Tyson, his trademark grin caught in some grainy surveillance still. He studied it for a long moment, his face unreadable. 'Fucking hell! That's the 3XK. Those killings...! I see what's going on here.'
Finally, he shook his head. "No. Never seen him."
Meanwhile...
The elevator dinged again. A group of techs and forensic specialists entered, hauling cases of equipment. Within minutes, they began spreading through the wreckage, cameras flashing, tools clicking. Two of them knelt near the desk, carefully picking through the scattered papers with tweezers. Another pair worked quietly in the corner, sorting torn paintings into neat piles, trying to piece them together like broken memories.
One forensic guy muttered, "Clean job. No prints so far. Whoever did this wore gloves and wiped surfaces."
"Keep digging, there must be something in this place that might give us a lead," Kate replied before looking back at Alex. "You don't have cameras inside?" She asked.
"Nope. After spending all day before the cameras, press, and work, I like to spend some personal time alone without cameras. That's why I bought the best security devices to prevent thieves. But... Well, this..." Alex said with a sigh.
He looked at one of the guys arranging the scripts. He looked like he was checking out the stories instead of arranging them. So, Alex raised his voice a little. "By the way, I don't want anyone to take anything from here. You want prints and traces, you can do that. The papers and everything, leave them here. And just to be clear, I got photographic memory and records of everything that's in here. If anyone pockets anything, I'll know, and it won't be good for them. Finally, whatever you see here, if it gets exposed to the media... I'll know who to sue and I'll pull back all the donations."
He then turned to Kate.
"Find me the person who did this."
"We'll do our best to find this person," Kate said with her usual confident expression. "And when we do, they will be dealt according to the law."
"Of course. I just want to see the face of the person who did this. That's all," Alex said with a smile. Then he walked over to the couch near the fireplace and sat down. He watched in silence as they did their job.
Alex's phone rang one. It was a text. He took out his phone and checked. It was from Rachel: I heard about the penthouse situation. Those bastards. We had so many memories there. I'm so sorry, Alex. But don't worry. I'm on the trail. I'll find him and bring him to you within 24 hours. That's a promise. Then, I'll destroy Spectre.
Alex replied: Open a bounty on Spectre. 300 million dollars. I'll pay it.
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AN: Time to use that clickbait Unlimited Money Skill.
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