The name echoed in the hollow space of the garage, a single word that dismantled my entire reality. *Sterling*.
It wasn’t a name. It was a brand. A dynasty. A name that opened doors no key could unlock and commanded sums of money I could only dream of. It was the name on the front of the building where I was supposed to beg for my A-round funding.
My phone started buzzing violently in my pocket, a frantic, insistent vibration. It was Mark again. Then our lead designer. Then the marketing head. A cascade of panicked calls I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I swiped them all to silent, the screen a blur of names that suddenly felt like strangers.
They were calling a ghost. The Julian Croft who had left the office hours ago, a titan of industry in his own mind, was gone. In his place was…
