"Long time no see."
Arthur stood in the center of my office, his arms spread wide as if he expected me to rush into them. He looked at me with a sickeningly bright expression, like an ex-lover who hadn't quite grasped the concept of 'it's over.'
I didn't move. I remained in the doorway, my hand still gripping the brass handle. "What do you want? You are here with no appointment."
"Skip the greetings, is that it?" Arthur chuckled, the sound devoid of any real humor. He finally lowered his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels.
That was when I saw it.
My breath hitched in my throat, not from fear, but from a surge of pure, unadulterated disgust. He was wearing a navy blue, three-piece suit with a subtle charcoal pinstripe. It was cut in a very specific, aggressive Italian style. It was paired with a crimson silk tie and a platinum tie bar. It was the exact outfit I had worn yesterday.
A chill crawled up my spine. He had been watching me. He had seen me yesterday, noted every detail of my attire down to the shade of the leather on my shoes, and had gone out to replicate it immediately. It was a sick game of mirroring he had played since we were children, but seeing it now, in my own office, felt like a violation.
"Classmates," I corrected him, my tone bored, though my mind was racing. I refused to call him a friend. "We were just classmates."
He smirked, a glint in his eye alerting me that he knew that I knew about the outfit. He wanted me to be unsettled. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"I want to buy the ten percent share you put up for bid," he said, cutting straight to the chase. He squinted his eyes at me, trying to appear shrewd. "I have the capital."
I blinked, genuinely surprised for a fraction of a second. The ten percent share of the Silver Group wasn't something you bought with pocket change. We were talking about billions. Liquid billions. I knew Arthur came from money, but I had underestimated just how much liquidity he had access to if he was willing to drop that kind of cash on a whim just to annoy me.
I was surprised and, I have to admit, deeply satisfied at the same moment. Arthur could copy my style, my gestures, and even my high school achievements, but he could never truly copy the Silver Group. That was my legacy, built on years of cunning and sheer hard work—a fortress he couldn't breach just by throwing money at it.
"That share is worth billions, Arthur," I said, stepping fully into the room and walking toward my desk. "It's not a toy you buy to match your shoes."
"I know what it's worth," he countered, his voice dropping to a serious register that didn't suit him. "And I'm ready to sign."
I walked around my massive desk, the heavy wood acting as a fortress between us. I needed distance. I sat down in my black leather-coated chair, the familiar creak of the expensive material grounding me. I leaned back, tenting my fingers, and looked at him with the pity one might offer a slow child.
"First of all," I began, my voice calm and authoritative, "we offered that stake because we wanted a strategic partnership. We want multiple partners to diversify our reach, not just one lump sum from a single investor. We don't need the money; we need the network."
Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but I held up a hand.
"And," I continued, sharpening my tone, "if you haven't read the requirements—which I assume you haven't, given your history of failing to prepare—let me repeat them for you. The investor must be a CEO of a company in the same or a complementary industry. Finance. Tech. Real Estate. Heavy Industry."
Arthur's smirk faltered. He shifted his weight, looking suddenly uncomfortable in my suit.
"Fuck. I read 'only a CEO of a company,'" he muttered, running a hand through his hair—another gesture he had stolen from me. "Can we negotiate? Because I am a CEO. I'm in the modeling industry. I own Velvet Runway."
I almost laughed. Of course he was in modeling. It was the only industry vain enough to tolerate him.
"Modeling?" I raised an eyebrow. "You think a conglomerate that deals in global infrastructure and hedge funds has a strategic overlap with... runways and photoshoots?"
"It's about image, Marcus! Branding!" he argued, his voice pitching up. He sounded desperate now, trying to please, show off, and negotiate all at the same time. It was pathetic. "We could have a deal. Think of the synergy!"
"No," I said simply. "There is no synergy. There is no deal. Leave."
I didn't wait for his response. I spun my chair around, turning my back to him to face the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the London skyline. It was the ultimate dismissal. To me, he no longer existed in the room.
"Brother, don't give me your back!" Arthur cried out. "I really admire you! That's why I'm here!"
Brother. The word grated on my nerves like sandpaper.
"I'm not falling for that," I told myself silently. He didn't admire me. He wanted to be me. He wanted to wear my skin, live my life, and take my achievements because he was too hollow to create his own.
A devilish smirk touched my lips as I stared at the gray clouds outside. I wasn't going to argue. I wasn't going to play his game.
I reached for the office phone on my desk without turning around. I punched the direct line to the security station in the lobby.
"Security," I said, my voice crisp and loud enough for Arthur to hear clearly. "There is a desperate beggar in my office who refuses to leave. Remove him."
"I thought we could have a deal, brother!" Arthur shouted, his composure cracking completely. "You can't do this! I have the money! I have the money, Marcus!"
I hung up the phone and waited.
Arthur kept talking. He talked too much. He rambled about our high school days, about how he deserved a seat at the table, about how he was just as good as me. He was spiraling, his voice bouncing off the walls of my office, filling the space with his insecurity.
Shortly, the heavy doors burst open. Two burly security guards in dark uniforms marched in.
"Sir, you need to come with us," one of them said.
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?" Arthur shrieked as they grabbed him by the arms.
I didn't turn around. I listened to the scuffle, the sound of expensive leather shoes dragging against the carpet, and Arthur's incoherent protests fading into the hallway. They dragged him out like he was having a mental explosion, his dignity left somewhere on the floor near the door.
Only when the silence returned did I finally spin my chair back around. The office was empty. The air felt lighter.
"Finally," I exhaled, straightening my tie—my original tie. I had work to do, and I was done wasting time on ghosts from the past.