Chapter 15 - The Treaty is Broken
The top floor of the Tower was quiet and still. George Agnew's office felt like a command center high above the city, surrounded by glass, steel, and a sense of deep authority. The room was large but filled with purpose. Everything inside told stories of power and history.... Both the old globe in the corner and the shelves of rare books and secret files
Sunlight shone through the tall windows, lighting a thick rug under a big oak desk. The desk was neat and held only a sleek computer screen, a plain black folder, and a bottle of whiskey with a glass that still held a measure of it.
George stood behind the desk, tall and calm, with his fingers pressed together in thought. His dark suit had a faint gold line down the side, and even without speaking, he gave off a strong, quiet authority, the kind that didn't need to shout to be obeyed.
A knock at the door broke the stillness.
George didn't turn.
"Yes?"
The door eased open and David walked in, carrying a slim folder with the color of ash. His walk was quiet and measured, betraying none of the storms he often swam through to gather intel. His grey suit blended into the shadows of the room as if he belonged to them.
"I have what you asked for," David said and offered the folder.
George finally turned, took the file, and gestured silently for him to sit. David remained standing.
"You've been thorough?" George asked while his eyes were already scanning the first page.
"As always," David replied. "His name is Alexander Stone. Age: 25. Currently unemployed. He has a sister, Emma Stone. Mother: Sandra Stone, she deserted them, when they were kids. Father: John Stone. Deceased. Died from a heart attack.
George's brow twitched slightly. "Tell me more about the boy?"
"Withdrawn, observant. Shows some elements of brilliance at intervals. But what's most interesting isn't what he does, it's where he goes."
David leaned in with a quiet voice like someone about to reveal a ghost story.
"For the past three months, every Saturday afternoon, Alex has been entering a building downtown. The Adig Group of Company Headquarters."
George's hand stopped turning the page.
"Say that again."
David repeated: "Adig Group of Company Headquarters."
There was a silence, a thick, heavy pause that seemed to stretch the walls.
Then George whispered, almost to himself, "Raymond..."
He chuckled. Once. Then again. A dry, incredulous laugh that grew into a full exhale of disbelief.
"Ha! I knew it. I knew that bastard wouldn't keep still."
David tilted his head. "You know him?"
George's eyes narrowed, it was distant but burning. "Raymond Carter... We made a treaty years ago. You leave my side of the world alone, I leave yours. He signed it with one hand and crossed it with the other."
George's mind drifted, back to Prague. A bitter night, fifteen years ago.
Snow fell like ash on a wounded world. The war between them had stretched too long, too deep, leaving broken men, erased files, and assets that would never truly recover.
They met in a small, guarded restaurant by the river. No one else was allowed within three blocks. It wasn't diplomacy, it was surrender. Mutual, silent, necessary.
Raymond had worn grey then, not black, but the sharpness in his eyes hadn't dulled. He raised a glass of Merlot with a tired, bitter smile.
"We've both lost more than we can count," he said. "You want your side to breathe. I want mine to rebuild. Let's call this survival, not peace."
George said nothing at first. Just stared through the candlelight at the man who'd once set fire to a capital and called it strategy.
Then, with a slow nod, he clinked the glass.
They signed the treaty in silence. No celebration. No trust. Just a piece of paper that said: enough, for now.
They stepped out into the frost as former enemies pretending to be neutral.
And even then, George had thought: This isn't peace. This is two predators choosing not to bite, yet.
His voice lowered into something colder.
"He always had a taste for chaos disguised as order. And now, he's picking protégés."
David frowned slightly. "So... this Raymond is training the boy?"
George closed the file, his fingers tapping it lightly.
"Yes," he said. "That's what it means. The person behind the sudden awakenings of this Alex, the person stirring him quietly from the shadows, is Raymond Carter."
A strange smile curled on his lips.
"How poetic. Prey training prey."
David shifted. "Why does he matter? What does Carter want?"
George turned to him, the light catching the ice in his eyes.
"Raymond is not a man who moves without intent. If he's guiding a boy like Alex, it means he's trying to breed opposition from within. Seeds take time to grow, David. He's planning something long-term."
He moved toward the window, watching the city breathe below.
"The last time we let him run wild, two governments collapsed, and we lost three operatives we'll never replace. The man is clever but stubborn. He cannot resist playing god. But I warned him and told him this was our final boundary. The treaty was our peace."
"And now it's broken," David said quietly.
George nodded. "Cracked, splintered, and shattered into dust."
A beat of silence.
Then George asked, "About the company... do we have anything? Or anyone inside?"
David straightened slightly. "We do, sir. One of our strongest intel channels. Deeply rooted in the company structure. Untraceable. We've kept him there for years, just in case. Just as we have insiders in all the top companies around."
"Could this intel be...?" George gave David a pointed look, the kind that didn't need words.
David understood instantly. He gave a small nod. "Yes, sir. It's him."
A faint smile touched George's lips. "Then that settles it. Good. Instruct him to keep a close eye on both of them, Alexander and Raymond. Every move, every whisper. If they so much as breathe the same air, I want to know."
He paused, then added, more quietly, "Let's just hope he doesn't fail us this time."
David gave a single nod. "Understood."
George turned back to his desk. "And David, draft a mail."
David stood straighter. "To whom?"
"To everyone. All heads of department. Intelligence, Algorithmic Engineering, Synthetic Control, Media Veil. I want them all aware."
He turned back to his desk, reopening the file like a war general staring at a map.
"Tell them we've identified movement from Raymond Carter. That he's chosen a Subject, Alexander Stone. That I have made the decision to act."
"Do you want to classify it as internal threat level?"
George's eyes flicked up. "No. Make it external. Call it a breach of treaty. Level Five."
David gave a curt nod. "Understood."
George took a breath. There was something colder in the air now. Final. Winter had begun to fall inside that room of sunlight.
He murmured, almost to himself, "Raymond... you just couldn't resist, could you?"
Then louder, with the firmness of a man who had made up his mind:
"Let the Circle prepare. If this boy is to be your blade, I'll ensure it's broken before it's ever drawn."
David left the room as quietly as he had come.