Chapter 1: The Blade in the Back

Chapter 1: The Blade in the Back

The hum of the projector was the only sound that betrayed Ethan Hayes’s pounding heart. He stood before the polished mahogany table of the Innovate Dynamics boardroom, a ghost in a perfectly tailored suit. On the screen behind him, the culmination of six months of relentless work, sleepless nights, and sacrificed weekends glowed in crisp, confident charts: Project Chimera.

This was it. The desire for this moment had been a fire in his belly since he’d first walked through the gleaming lobby of this tech giant five years ago, the first in his family to ever set foot in such a world. He wasn’t just presenting a project; he was presenting his future.

His gaze flickered across the stone-faced executives, finally landing on the man at the head of the table: Mr. Sterling, the CEO. Sterling was a corporate legend, a man whose quiet, discerning gaze could make or break a career with a single, thoughtful nod. Ethan’s goal was simple and all-consuming: earn that nod.

He took a steadying breath and began. His voice was calm, his delivery flawless. He walked them through the market analysis, the development timeline, the resource allocation. He knew every data point, every potential pitfall, every projected return on investment. The initial tension in the room began to dissolve, replaced by a low murmur of approval. He could feel it—he was winning. He saw a flicker of genuine interest in Mr. Sterling’s eyes, and his confidence surged.

Then came the obstacle, not from the board, but from the man seated to Mr. Sterling’s right.

Marcus Thorne, Senior Vice President and Ethan’s direct superior, cleared his throat. He was a relic from another era, a man of old money and older prejudices, poured into a suit that cost more than Ethan’s first car. His silver hair was perfect, his smile a condescending curve.

“An excellent presentation, Ethan. Truly,” Marcus began, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Just one minor adjustment we discussed. The Q3 penetration forecast. Let’s show them the more… optimistic figures.”

Ethan froze for a fraction of a second. They hadn't 'discussed' anything. Fifteen minutes before the meeting, Marcus had cornered him outside the boardroom, a predator singling out its prey. He’d glanced at Ethan’s final slide and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fifteen percent? A bit timid, my boy,” Marcus had said, his breath smelling of expensive coffee and self-importance. “I have it on good authority from the higher-ups that we can expect closer to twenty-five. A much stronger number. Shows confidence. Just a friendly tip from a veteran.”

Ethan’s gut had clenched. His fifteen percent projection was aggressive but anchored in weeks of rigorous data analysis. Twenty-five percent was pure fantasy, a number plucked from thin air to dazzle and impress. It was a lie.

But this was Marcus Thorne. To question him, here, now, in front of the entire executive team, would be an act of open rebellion. It was career suicide. Ethan, the sharp, data-driven project manager, was still politically naive. He believed, foolishly, that competence was its own shield and that a senior executive wouldn’t deliberately set him up to fail.

So he took the action that sealed his fate. He had nodded, made the change, and saved the doctored presentation file.

Now, in the boardroom’s silent judgment, that decision came back to haunt him. He clicked to the final slide. The twenty-five percent figure hung in the air, bold and garish.

The result was immediate and catastrophic.

Mr. Sterling, who had been leaning forward with interest, sat back, his expression hardening. The brief warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a familiar, chilling disappointment.

“Twenty-five percent?” Sterling’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a shard of glass. “Mr. Hayes, what is this number based on? My internal projections don't come close to this. Show me the data to support such a claim.”

Ethan’s mouth went dry. All the confidence, all the momentum, evaporated. He stood exposed. He couldn't defend the number because it was indefensible. He glanced at Marcus, a desperate, silent plea for support.

Marcus met his gaze, but his expression was one of mild, paternal concern, as if watching a student falter. "The pressure can be immense, gentlemen," Marcus said to the room, shaking his head slightly. "Sometimes our ambition gets the better of our analysis."

The blade slid between Ethan’s ribs, so sharp and cold he barely felt it go in. Marcus wasn't just letting him fail; he was narrating the failure, framing him as an overeager junior who had inflated his own numbers. The humiliation was a physical force, a heat that crawled up his neck and burned his face. He stammered a weak, incoherent response about "alternative modeling" and "late-breaking indicators." The words tasted like ash.

The meeting ended soon after. The murmurs of approval were gone, replaced by polite, dismissive nods. Mr. Sterling left without another word, his disappointment a tangible cloud in the room. Ethan’s career-making breakthrough had turned into a public execution.

He packed his laptop with trembling hands, the condescending pats on the back from his colleagues feeling like blows. Marcus approached him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Tough break, son," Marcus said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You'll learn. In this business, you can't just be smart; you have to be right."

Ethan could only nod, his throat too tight to speak.

The turning point came hours later. He was sitting in his cubicle, the lights of the city beginning to sparkle outside as the office emptied. He stared at his screen, replaying every disastrous second, drowning in a sea of failure and shame. He had failed. It was his fault. He had made the change.

"Ethan?"

He looked up. It was Sarah, Marcus’s young administrative assistant, hovering by his desk. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale with guilt.

"I... I have to tell you something," she whispered, glancing nervously towards Marcus's now-empty corner office. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let it happen."

Ethan just stared at her, confused.

"This morning," she continued, her voice cracking, "before he came to see you, I overheard him on the phone with someone from finance. He was laughing. He said... he said your fifteen percent number was 'dangerously accurate' and that you were 'getting too much attention from the top floor.' He said he was going to 'give you enough rope to hang yourself with a prettier number.' He knew, Ethan. He knew twenty-five percent was a lie. He did it on purpose."

The surprise, the truth, hit Ethan not with the heat of rage, but with the freezing clarity of a winter dawn. Every piece clicked into place: Marcus’s paranoia, his condescending mentorship, his carefully placed "tip." It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a test. It was a deliberate, calculated assassination.

Sarah started crying softly. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

Ethan looked at her, but his mind was already miles away. He felt the shame and humiliation inside him begin to cool, to harden, to crystallize into something else. The burning fire of ambition didn't die; it was transmuted into something colder, denser. Something patient.

"It's not your fault, Sarah," he said, his voice eerily calm. "Thank you for telling me."

After she left, he sat alone in the deepening twilight, the city lights reflected in his sharp gray eyes. He looked at the glowing glass box of Marcus Thorne's office, a monument to a man who had built a career on the backs of others. Ethan had wanted to climb the ladder. He had played the game with passion and integrity, believing that was enough.

He now understood. He had been playing the wrong game.

The ambition to rise was gone, burned away by the acid of betrayal. In its place, a new vow took root, a cold and simple promise he made to himself in the silence of the empty office. He would not quit. He would not complain. He would survive. He would watch, he would learn, and he would wait.

And one day, when Marcus Thorne was fat and happy and basking in the glow of his own perceived brilliance, Ethan would hand him the rope. And this time, he would make sure it was tied into a perfect, inescapable noose. The game wasn't about climbing anymore. It was about vengeance.