Excecutive Enigma

1 - Alex Easton.

I woke up at exactly 5 AM, just like every other morning. The alarm didn't even need to go off—my body was used to it by now. I stretched a bit, feeling the tightness in my back, and rolled out of bed. The cool air of the penthouse hit me, but it felt good. Woke me up faster.

The room was still dark, only a little light coming in from the edges of the curtains. Foggy morning, I could tell without even looking. I walked over to the giant floor-to-ceiling windows and yanked the curtains open. Sure enough, the whole city was covered in a thick, gray fog. It swallowed up the tops of the buildings, and even the park down below looked like something out of a ghost story.

Across the park, there was the old apartment building. Same view every day, one light was on. It was early, most people weren't even awake yet, but there it was, a single square of yellow light in that drab building. I squinted, trying to figure out who it could be, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell. I frowned, annoyed for some reason, and turned away.

"Who cares," I muttered to myself.

I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and firing up the coffee machine. The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and I felt a little better. Mornings weren't so bad with coffee, I supposed. I poured myself a cup and took a sip, letting the bitterness wake me up even more.

On the kitchen island, yesterday's newspaper was sitting there, untouched. Of course, I already knew what it said. There was no avoiding it. The front page had a picture of me, Alex Easton, billionaire extraordinaire, in my usual scowl. The headline read something like: "Easton Acquires Tech Startup in Multi-Million Dollar Deal." I didn't even remember which company it was. One of many, anyway.

I picked it up, glancing at the headline again, shaking my head. "They make it sound like it's a big deal," I grumbled. "It's just another acquisition. Another day."

Still, the press loved a good story about a billionaire expanding his empire, and I gave them plenty to write about. It wasn't like I enjoyed the attention, but I understood it came with the territory.

I skimmed the article, not really paying much attention to the details. They were all the same anyway: profits, stocks, predictions. Everyone always wanted to know what I was going to do next, as if I owed them some grand explanation.

Finishing my coffee, I set the cup down a little too hard on the counter. The sound echoed through the penthouse, making me wince. It was too quiet in here sometimes, and the echo was a reminder of that. The fog outside, the light in that apartment, the newspaper—it all seemed to press down on me.

"Another day in paradise," I muttered sarcastically.

I glanced out the window again, drawn back to that single light across the park. It hadn't turned off yet. Strange. I wondered if they were an early riser like me or if they just couldn't sleep. Either way, I couldn't help but feel a little bit of curiosity about who lived there. But, then again, I had more important things to do.

Or at least, that's what I told myself.

I laced up my running shoes, already dreading the next half-hour. Running wasn't something I enjoyed. If anything, it felt like a chore, but I had to do it. My personal trainer said cardio was necessary, and I wasn't about to let myself fall apart, not with the number of people expecting me to keep up this billionaire image. Still, every time I started a run, I found myself wondering why I bothered.

With a sigh, I stepped out of the penthouse and took the elevator down, passing through the sleek, marble-floored lobby without saying a word to the concierge. They knew better than to try to make small talk with me this early.