Andrew Beckley, the brain of Beckings Industries, swiveled in his plush leather chair, a satisfied smirk played on his lips. He had always known. Known he was destined for greatness. Known he would carve his own path, leaving his weakling twin brother, Arthur, in the dust.
Growing up, Andrew had been a troublesome child, a whole package of mischief and ruthlessness. While Arthur, his twin, and a coward cowered under their mother's disapproving gaze, Andrew found satisfaction in it, he relished in the fear it ignited in her eyes. "You're the devil child," she'd hiss, a tremor in her voice that only fuelled Andrew's fire.
But the devil wasn't quite accurate in describing him. No, the devil was predictable, a mere pawn in the heavens game. Andrew, was the one who orchestrated every move. He'd honed his skills and become a master manipulator, his charm and wit, a weapon as potent as any blade.
Arthur, on the other hand, had been a pathetic excuse for a brother. Always scared of their mother's disapproval, and easily swayed by their father's pathetic attempts at morality. Andrew had seen the weakness in his twin, a weakness that would be a liability.
Years of subtle manipulation had molded Arthur into a more 'acceptable' version of himself, a pale contrast to Andrew's brilliance. But Andrew knew Arthur's core was still susceptible, still riddled with the same flaws as their father. One wrong move, one sign of rebellion, and Andrew didn't hesitate. Arthur was replaceable.
The only real threat, the only thorn in his side, had been Ernest Bolt, the man and the father of the girl who held the key to Andrew's past – Annie. But Andrew had foreseen that threat too. Ernest's plans, his ambitions, and the secret project at Bolt had been open to Andrew like an unread book.
The fire had been a necessary sacrifice. He'd planned for it, orchestrated it, ensuring Ernest and all he held dear were caught in the flames except the girl.
Andrew had even taken precautions. A vasectomy, a simple procedure that ensured no child of his own could be used as leverage against him. He was the master of his own destiny, beholden to no one.
Now, with Arthur gone and Joseph, his nephew, a puppet, Andrew held absolute power. He skimmed through the files on his desk, each one a potential lead on Annie Bolt. Each face stared back at him, blank and unidentifiable. Disappointment gnawed at him. These people will face interrogation followed by elimination, the same ruthless efficiency he'd employed for thirteen years.
He couldn't afford a single misstep. Finding Annie was paramount. She held the key, the memory, the truth that could unravel his carefully constructed web.
Across town, in Annie's apartment, a different kind of reunion was unfolding. Annie, disguised as Raven, sat with Penelope and Toolz, a lot of emotions swirling in her eyes.
"Thirteen years," Penelope murmured, her voice heavy with sorrow. "I never lost hope, Annie. Not for a moment."
Raven reached out, her hand engulfing Penelope's. "Neither did I," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But the fire… the orphanage…"
Penelope squeezed Raven's hand tightly. "Toolz found you close to the orphanage. You were barely conscious, all drained, wounded, and tired. Raven winced, a repressed memory flickering on the edge of her consciousness – a comforting warmth cradling her, a hand brushing away the ash from her face. "It's… hazy. All these years…"
"You were in shock, Annie," Toolz interjected, his voice gruff but gentle. "It took years before you could even speak about the fire."
He recounted the harrowing escape, the emotion in his voice a testament to the night's horror. How he'd stumbled upon Penelope, unconscious and barely breathing, clutching a young girl's hand– Annie. Toolz, though just a teenager himself, had taken them to the orphanage. It wasn't much, but it was the only home he knew.
Penelope picked up the thread of the narrative, detailing her desperate struggle to rebuild her life. She'd changed her identity, becoming a ghost in the city she once called home. How she'd tracked Beckings' activities, waiting for the day she could avenge Ernest's death and find justice. They were a makeshift family ...bound by loss and a shared thirst for justice.
The years at the orphanage had been harsh, a constant struggle for survival in a system that offered little comfort. Toolz, driven by love and responsibility, became Raven's protector, her confidant, and her big brother in all but blood. He taught her to fight, to be resourceful, to bury her pain deep and channel it into a steely resolve. Raven thrived under his care.
Penelope, haunted by the ghosts of her past, lived a life on the edge, a silent observer collecting intel on Beckings Industries. She meticulously documented their projects, their scandals, and their ever-expanding reach. But uncovering the truth about the fire remained elusive, shrouded in a veil of secrecy and lies.
The night stretched on, a mix of anger, grief, and a simmering hope. The past recounts tumbled out, piece by fragmented piece. Raven recounted her nightmares, vivid flashes of flames, and the sensation of being pulled away. Penelope, tears shimmering in her emerald eyes, offered a tentative explanation.
"We can't afford to get emotional," Toolz said, his voice firm. "Beckley is a monster, and we need to be smarter, faster. We have a plan, Raven. You're now inside. Use it. Gather information, find weaknesses, and we'll strike when the time is right."
Raven nodded, her fiery resolve reignited. Revenge wouldn't bring back her parents or the childhood stolen from her, but it could bring justice. It could dismantle the empire built on lies and destruction. It could be the key to setting them all free from their pain.
She had finally managed to sleep, but she had yet another nightmare, Annie bolted upright in bed, a scream tearing from her throat. She gasped for breath, her heart pounding against her ribs. The familiar terror of the fire engulfed her, the heat, the smoke, the desperate attempt for escape.
A hand touched her shoulder, warm and reassuring. Toolz materialized beside her, his face etched with concern. "Just a bad dream," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. Raven clung to him like a lifeline. The terror was still etched, the vulnerability she desperately tried to suppress came out at that moment, and her facade all faded away. She was just Annie, a scared child yearning for comfort.
Toolz, ever perceptive, understood. He didn't attempt any empty promises of a brighter future. He simply held her, a silent pillar of strength in her storm. But as Raven leaned into his embrace, a flicker of something else stirred within her – a warmth that had nothing to do with revenge.
"This isn't the time for this, Toolz," she whispered, pushing away, shame coloring her cheeks. "We have work to do." Toolz met her gaze, his blue eyes holding a depth of unspoken emotions. "I know," he replied softly. "But sometimes, even warriors need a moment of solace."
The unspoken words hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that backed their shared mission. But Raven, unwilling to dwell on the unexpected tenderness, forced a smile.
"Later," she said, her voice firm. "We can talk after all this, much later. Now, what do you think should be our next course of action?"
Revenge was a dish best served cold.
Raven was super frustrated. Days had bled into weeks, and her life at Beckings Industries remained a regular blur of filing, data entry, and fetching coffee. The thrill of being in the enemy's camp had quickly faded, replaced by a dull sense of disappointment.
"Phoenix Project," she muttered under her breath, flipping through a stack of invoices. "Not a single mention. Joseph Beckley? Haven't even caught a glimpse of the man."
The plan, meticulously crafted by Penelope and Toolz, had seemed foolproof. Infiltrate Becklings, and use her natural skills to gather intel on the Phoenix Project – rumored to be the source of Beckley's power. But so far, there was nothing. Just mind-numbing office work and the occasional flirtatious comment from her male colleagues.
A sudden buzz rippled through the office, sending a jolt through Raven. whispers erupted like wildfire. "Board meeting… big announcement… Joseph Beckley finally is finally here."
Her heart leaped into her throat. This had to be it. The information they'd been waiting for, the key to unraveling the Phoenix Project. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, She grabbed a random file from her desk, shoving it into her folder with forced urgency. "Excuse me," she muttered, her voice betraying her excitement as she walked towards the elevator. "Just taking these up to Mr. Walker on the top floor."
A chorus of disbelieving glances followed her. Mr. Walker rarely needed anything, especially not from a lowly filing clerk. But Raven didn't care. This was her chance, her only chance, to catch a glimpse of this Joseph Beckley and potentially glean some information.
The elevator doors hissed open, revealing the boardroom interior reserved for executive use. Her heart hammered in her chest as she pressed the button for the top floor. This wasn't part of the plan, but desperation fueled her recklessness.
The elevator doors opened onto a hushed corridor. She could hear the muffled voices from within the boardroom. Raven peered through a sliver of glass, catching a fleeting glimpse of dark suits huddled around a polished table. Disappointment washed over her. Joseph wasn't there.
Just as she was about to turn and leave, a figure emerged from the boardroom. It was Joseph, his back straight, a coldness radiating from every move. He glanced around the corridor, his eyes briefly brushing hers before disappearing through a doorway at the far end.
Raven's breath hitched. This was her only chance. But what could she possibly do? What did she even know?
She sank down on a plush armchair outside the boardroom, the adrenaline drain leaving her feeling hollow and exposed.