The air in the elevator was so clean and cold it felt synthetic, a stark contrast to the humid, thick air of his two-bedroom apartment and the street-level anxiety he had left behind. Rick Mason felt a tremor of something akin to religious awe as the car ascended. He was going to the 20th floor. The elevator panel was a map of his world, and the glowing numbers were an ascent into a higher plane of existence. Floors 20 through 22. The private floors. The sacred domain of the true leaders, of the chosen few. He pressed the button for the 20th floor, his finger lingering on the cool metal as a smile of profound self-satisfaction stretched across his face.
He felt a profound sense of self-righteousness, an inner voice telling him that this was his reward, his prize for a life of grueling, self-imposed effort. He had earned this. Every insult he had endured in East New York, every sleepless night he had spent studying while others partied, every moment of financial anxiety he had felt over the years—it all led to this moment of supreme validation. He thought of his father's words, a stern command delivered with a hint of undeniable pride: This is one of the most powerful men in the world. This can be a wonderful opportunity.
He saw the faces of his former classmates, the ones he had laughed at last night, the ones who were still stuck in their mundane lives. The image of Winston Stone, the sad-eyed taxi driver who was reduced to a punchline, flashed in his mind, and Rick's smile grew wider, colder. What did Winston know about this? About power? About real wealth? The kind of wealth that reflected in the very glass of the skyscrapers, the kind that made the world bow down? Rick knew the feeling of scraping by, of living with the constant, dull ache of wanting more. He had been there. But he was past that now. His recent promotion to team leader had changed everything. And this meeting, this anointment by the great and terrible Author Vance, was the final confirmation that he was a new man, a member of the inner circle. He had never met Vance, had never even seen a picture of the man. The legend was just that—a legend. A ghost. But Rick knew that ghosts had power. They could move things, influence lives, and today, he would finally meet the ghost who had shaped his own life and a world that he now felt he truly belonged to.
The elevator doors opened with a soft, expensive chime, revealing a security guard who stepped forward immediately, his eyes as cold and gray as the metal detectors that lined the entrance to the floor. Rick was used to the security. It was part of the company's insane, but effective, policy. No one would ever dare question the logic of the man who ran this corporation. He presented his ID, and the guard checked it against a screen, his face impassive. Then came the familiar, intrusive pat-down, a swift, practiced motion that felt less like a search and more like a silent assertion of absolute authority. Rick stood perfectly still, his heart a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, but he felt no fear. This was the necessary cost of being in the inner circle. He was led through the metal detector, a silent, obedient cog in the great, flawless machine of Vance Corporation. He passed, and the guard gestured down a long, immaculate hallway. "Right this way."
Another guard, equally as large and silent, led him through a corridor of closed doors and glass panels. The air was still and quiet, filled with a palpable sense of purpose and control. Men and women in expensive, perfectly tailored suits walked by, their faces serious, intense, and utterly focused on their unseen tasks. Rick's confidence, which had been so inflated in the elevator, felt suddenly smaller, a fragile thing in a world of giants. He felt a fleeting moment of anxiety, a pang of self-doubt that he quickly suppressed. He was here because he was worthy. He was a team leader now. His father had made sure of it. They arrived at a massive wooden door, and the guard knocked twice. A voice, deep and commanding, came from within. "Let him in."
The guard opened the door, and Rick stepped into a room that was a perfect, beautiful monument to corporate power. The office was breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a sweeping, breathtaking view of the city—a view that made the rest of Manhattan look like a child's toy. A long, gleaming conference table stood at its center, a polished expanse of dark mahogany that seemed to absorb all the available light. At the head of the table sat a single high-backed chair, a throne for the man who sat in it. Rick's eyes landed on the chair first, then on the man who sat in it. He was a Caucasian man in his late forties, with a face that seemed to have been carved from marble. His eyes were a piercing blue, and his expression was one of complete and utter control, radiating a cold, palpable authority. Two guards stood behind his chair, as still and silent as statues. This had to be him. Author Vance, in the flesh.
Rick nodded his head in respect, a careful mixture of deference and confidence, but Vance didn't acknowledge him. He simply looked at Rick for a brief, cold second before turning his gaze back to something on his desk, as if Rick were insignificant, a piece of office furniture in his world. Rick's excitement, which had been boiling over just moments ago, felt like it was being poured over with ice water. He kept his cool, his composure a fragile thing in the face of such a crushing dismissal. He scanned the room, his eyes moving to the others seated at the table, trying to find a familiar face.
He saw an old man with gray hair, writing furiously on a notepad, sitting in the chair to the immediate left of Vance. Next to him was a woman, her face a mask of focus as she went through a stack of papers. A couple of seats away, on the same side of the table, was his father. Rick's heart gave a little jump, a small moment of reassurance. His father, a man who had always been a distant, powerful presence in his life, was here. Rick nodded at his dad, who looked up, met his gaze for a second, then quickly looked back at Vance, his respect for the CEO so palpable it was almost a physical presence in the room.
But it was the man on the right side of the table who caught his attention, and the sight of him made Rick's blood run ice cold. He was the only one not wearing a suit, dressed instead in a simple blue dress shirt and black pants. His head was down on his arms, as if he were taking a nap. Rick's mind reeled in a flurry of confusion and disbelief. The sheer, unadulterated arrogance of it. Who was this guy? How could anyone have the nerve to fall asleep in a meeting with Author Vance? Was he brave, or just plain stupid? Rick knew that no one knew anything about Vance's personal life, but he instantly wondered if this was his son or brother, someone so powerful they didn't have to play by the rules. The man had to be related to Vance; he had to be a part of this immense power, a secret prince of wealth. The sheer normalcy of his clothes, the blatant disregard for the seriousness of the situation—it was a form of power Rick couldn't even comprehend. It was the ultimate statement of untouchable security. He was so secure in his position he didn't have to prove anything to anyone.
The quiet stillness of the room was shattered when the old man next to Vance looked up from his notepad, his voice an authority that instantly commanded the room. "Team leader, take a seat opposite your father. Now that you've arrived, we can begin the meeting."
The words were a command, but they were also a sentence. Rick's heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread mixing with awe. He looked at the man with his head down, at the silent, enigmatic presence that was a question he didn't have the answer to. A terrifying feeling settled over him: that he was standing in a gilded cage, trapped with powerful monsters in human form, and he was nothing more than prey. Vance was the scariest monster of all, yet he looked at the man with his head down, the secret prince, as if he had been in this gilded cage so long he didn't even care anymore.