George sat in his study, a quiet corner filled with polished mahogany furniture and rows of leather-bound books, each spine catching the warm glow of the desk lamp. But George barely noticed the ambiance; his attention was fixed on the television, where a scandal was unfolding.
The newscaster's voice was crisp yet tinged with incredulity: "The incident involving the heir of the renowned conglomerate continues to dominate social media, where footage shows the young man assaulting a security guard". "Known for his high-profile relationships with A-list celebrities, this latest outrage has sparked calls for corporations to finally be held accountable."
George's eyes narrowed as the news continued. The public was outraged, demanding justice and accountability, and George couldn't help but feel a pang of familiarity, though he wasn't sure why. At that moment, Logan's words echoed in his mind: "Just wait, something very amusing will happen soon." He smirked, shaking his head. "Is this the 'amusing' thing Logan hinted at?"
A sharp knock on the door broke his thoughts. Lyra and Peter, his daughter and Logan personal assistant entered the room, their faces creased with concern.
"Aren't we late for the meeting?" Lyra asked, her voice laced with impatience.
"Yes, we are," Peter responded, glancing at his watch. His suit was crisp, his demeanor a calculated mix of calm and urgency, though his eyes betrayed his worry.
Lyra walked over to George, attempting to shake him from his daze. "Dad? Are you coming?" But George remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the television as if hypnotized.
Frustrated, Lyra took his arm gently, her voice softer now. "Dad, are you angry? Don't worry… You have me," she whispered, forcing a comforting smile. "I'd even get a divorce if it meant you wouldn't be alone."
George's attention snapped back to reality, but he seemed almost disoriented. "Where… where is James Ruby?" he asked suddenly, his voice low but tinged with a strange urgency.
"James Ruby?" Lyra's face paled, and she exchanged a confused glance with Peter. "Dad, why are you asking about someone who's… dead?"
At her words, George recoiled, his eyes blazing. He tore his arm from Lyra's grasp, leaving her momentarily stunned.
"Dead?" he repeated, a tremor in his voice. "Just because I disowned him, you dare to speak of your brother as if he's dead when he's alive and well?" His voice rose, raw and filled with an intensity that startled even Peter, who had been standing quietly by.
Lyra took a step back, visibly shaken. "Dad, James Ruby died over twenty years ago. We… we all attended his funeral."
"Shut that mouth!" George's voice boomed through the room, his face flushed with anger.
Peter intervened, placing a steadying hand on George's shoulder. "Sir, please, calm down. Let's sit and discuss this," he said, glancing at Lyra, who was on the verge of tears.
"Oh, no…" Lyra murmured, covering her mouth to stifle a sob. She turned to Peter, desperation flashing in her eyes. "We need to get him to Dr. Lee. Right away."
Peter nodded and led George towards the door, with Lyra by his side, her face a mix of concern and sadness. As they left, Peter turned to her. "I'll drive," he said firmly. "Let's get him to the garage. He needs help."
George resisted, but Lyra held his arm tightly. "Dad, please. This will help you," she whispered, guiding him down the hallway. He was muttering incoherently, words tangled in a delusion, as he kept demanding, "Bring James Ruby. I want to see him."
They reached the garage, where a black sedan awaited. Peter opened the door and managed, with Lyra's help, to coax George inside. He was still murmuring, his voice a haunting blend of anger and sorrow, as he finally settled into the seat, albeit reluctantly. Lyra slid into the backseat with him, her hand on his shoulder as if her touch alone could ground him back to reality.
As Peter started the car and pulled out of the garage, a figure emerged from the shadows. Rowan, George's loyal aide, had been watching the entire scene unfold from a distance. He approached Peter as the car rolled to a halt momentarily at the driveway.
"Where's the chairman going?" Rowan asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.
Peter met his gaze, his face tense. "He's… not well. It seems he's disturbed by Logan's incident. We're taking him home to rest."
Rowan nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "I understand. If there's anything I can do…"
Peter gave him a short nod. "Thank you, Rowan. I trust you to manage things here."
Rowan lingered, watching as the car sped down the long, winding driveway and disappeared around a bend. A moment later, Felix, another aide, approached him.
"Did the chairman leave?" Felix asked, his voice low.
"Yes. I received word they landed in the Czech Republic. We may need to prepare."
…
Thousands of miles away, Logan was walking through the hostel room. He paused briefly, fishing a small photo out of his wallet. It was his mother, Evelyn Ruby, a woman whose beauty seemed timeless, her face holding a quiet strength that had always comforted him. Her memory was the anchor that kept him grounded amidst the chaos of his life.
"I'm here, Mom," he thought, brushing a thumb over the worn edge of the photograph before tucking it back into his wallet. Behind him, a shadow lurked, someone trailing him at a distance, but Logan seemed oblivious, his thoughts consumed by memories of his mother.
As he made his way through the room Logan's mind wandered back to the last time he'd been here. The city's cold winds had bitten into him, and he'd had to remind himself why he'd returned. He was here for answers, for the truth about his family, the legacy he was part of but barely understood.
The Czech Republic was more than a destination; it was a step into the past, a place his mother had always spoken of but rarely visited. He took a breath, grounding himself in the present, yet feeling the pull of history, of things unresolved and secrets unspoken.
Meanwhile, in the car, Lyra looked at her father, his head resting against the seat, his eyes vacant yet restless, as though he were searching for something lost.
"Dad," she whispered, but he didn't respond.
She glanced at Peter in the driver's seat. "Do you think he's… do you think he's losing it?"
Peter hesitated, gripping the wheel tightly. "I don't know. He seems… tormented by something. Something he's buried for years."
Lyra nodded, swallowing hard. She had always known her father to be a man of unwavering control, someone who wielded authority like a weapon. But now he seemed fragile, haunted by a name, James Ruby that had long been forgotten.
The car wound through the city streets, eventually reaching the upscale neighborhood where Dr. Lee, a psychiatrist who had worked with the family for years, as their personal doctor. Who had work in MB cooperation hospital. Peter parked, and together, he and Lyra helped George out of the car.
Dr. Lee, a tall man in his sixties with a calm demeanor, met them at the door. His face softened as he saw George, noting the confusion in his eyes.
"George," Dr. Lee said softly, guiding him inside. "Let's sit down."
Peter and Lyra waited in the hallway, their hearts heavy with worry. They could hear snippets of the conversation through the door. Dr. Lee's soothing tone, George's angry outbursts, and, occasionally, a name: "James Ruby."
After an hour, Dr. Lee emerged, his face etched with concern.
"He's… having an episode. It's rare, but sometimes trauma resurfaces in ways we can't predict," Dr. Lee explained, glancing at Lyra. "You mentioned he's been under stress recently?"
Lyra nodded. "There's been a lot going on, with the company, with Logan…" Her voice trailed off.
Dr. Lee placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "For now, I've given him something to help him rest. But I'd like to keep a close eye on him over the next few days. I believe there's something unresolved, something connected to his memories of James Ruby."
Lyra bit her lip, absorbing the doctor's words. The name James Ruby felt like a ghost, haunting their family despite being buried long ago.
…
Logan had just reached the edge of the Charles Bridge, its Gothic towers casting long shadows across the water as twilight began to settle over Prague. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint notes of a street musician's violin, adding a melancholic undertone to the evening.
He leaned against the railing, gazing down at the Vltava River. His mother's stories of this place had always been filled with a strange mixture of wonder and sorrow, as though the city itself held secrets she had never wanted to reveal.
A figure moved beside him, a stranger dressed in a dark coat, but something about the person's presence felt… familiar. Logan turned, but the stranger was already slipping away, disappearing into the crowd.