Ethan Cross sat slumped in the worn leather armchair of his dimly lit living room. The half-empty bottle of whiskey perched precariously on the coffee table next to a stack of unopened mail. The room reeked of stale alcohol and faint traces of cigarette smoke. Ethan, a 30-year-old former investigative journalist, had become a shadow of the man he once was. Sharp-minded and once revered for his brilliant deductive abilities, he now drowned in self-pity and liquor.
His world had crumbled two years ago when his fiancée, Claire, left him without a word. The wound still ached, a constant reminder of what he had lost. The walls of his house, once filled with laughter and plans for the future, now stood as a prison of solitude.
It was past midnight when a sudden knock shattered the silence. Ethan stirred, the sound cutting through his drunken haze. He blinked at the door, the knock repeating, louder this time.
"Who the hell comes here at this hour?" he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. His steps were sluggish, but his mind—though dulled by alcohol—was still capable of assessing the unexpected.
Opening the door, Ethan was met by an unusual group. Three men in sharp suits flanked a young woman in her late twenties. Her presence was commanding despite her petite frame. She had piercing green eyes that seemed to see through him.
"Ethan Cross?" she asked, her tone cool and professional.
"Depends on who's asking," Ethan replied, leaning against the doorframe.
The woman didn't flinch. "My name is Vanessa Drake. We have a proposition for you. May we come in?"
Ethan hesitated. It had been months since anyone had come to his door, let alone strangers with a proposition. His curiosity, a trait he could never fully suppress, stirred awake.
"Fine," he said, stepping aside.
The group filed in, their movements deliberate. Vanessa looked around, her expression betraying no judgment at the state of his living room. She gestured for the men to remain standing while she took a seat opposite Ethan.
"Mr. Cross," she began, "you were once regarded as one of the finest investigative minds in the country. Your work exposed corruption, toppled corporations, and brought justice to the unseen corners of the world. But now... you've retreated into obscurity."
Ethan poured himself another drink, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. "If you're here to remind me of what I used to be, save it. I already have the memories."
Vanessa leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "What if I told you that we need your skills? That there's a man out there—a mastermind—whose actions are dismantling organizations like ours, and we can't stop him?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Organizations like yours? What exactly are you?"
"Think of us as a syndicate," Vanessa replied. "We maintain order in a world of chaos. But this man... he's too perfect. Every move he makes destabilizes us, our allies, our rivals. He's playing a game no one understands, and we can't even touch him."
Ethan chuckled bitterly. "And you think a washed-up drunk like me can help?"
"Yes," Vanessa said firmly. "Because you understand how these people think. You used to expose them. Your mind is still as sharp as ever, no matter how much you try to dull it with alcohol."
Ethan stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. For the first time in years, he felt a spark of the old fire inside him.
"What's the catch?" he asked.
Vanessa smirked. "No catch. Just results. If you succeed, you'll be well-compensated. If you fail… well, let's just say failure isn't an option."
Ethan leaned back, his fingers drumming against the glass in his hand. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about this mastermind."
Vanessa handed him a dossier. Ethan's eyes scanned the contents: a series of encrypted messages, financial transactions, and a timeline of calculated disruptions. It was intricate, almost beautiful in its execution.
"Impressive," he murmured.
Vanessa's eyes lingered on him as he flipped through the pages. "So, Mr. Cross. Do we have a deal?"
Ethan closed the file and looked up, a faint grin playing on his lips. "I'll need more whiskey. And a clean notebook."
As the group left, Ethan's mind began to whirl. For the first time in years, he felt alive, his thoughts cutting through the fog of despair. But deep down, hidden even from himself, lay a secret: the blueprint for everything Vanessa had just described was in his own head.
Ethan Cross was the mastermind they sought.