Page 18 of Doubts of the Egoist
“I’m not implying. A few days ago, he paid dozens of YouTube influencers to spin negative news about the crypto market going down. I don’t know if it was pure luck or if he had some inside information about whales selling their stashes, but I’ll find out ‘cause Mio wasn’t the only one shorting big with huge leverage[1]to buy back at the lowest price.”
Yugo laughed. “He gambled with your money? What was the leverage ratio?”
“Five to one.”
“That’s a lot of money,” Greg chimed in, scratching his cheek as he resumed his stock-still position. “What does he need it for?”
Yugo’s mind drifted back to Mio’s last attempt at adolescent rebellion. The boy had been desperate when he screamed his hatred of the S-Syndicate at the top of his lungs.
Then, his own words echoed through his head. “If you hate it, you’re always welcome to walk away. Go ahead, find yourself a decent job that pays a thousand euros a month. I’ll watch you try to survive on that, or do you think I’ll always pay your bills?”
Did I push him too far?
“Leave him be, and concentrate on your job.” Tobias hesitated as if displeased with something. “What is it? You’ve got your money; what more do you want?”
“Interests and answers. The fact that he paid it back alarms me the most.” Tobias lowered his chin, staring up fromunder his pale brows. “He’s up to no good.”
“Maybe he regrets his actions?” Yugo said, though the unpleasant thought that Mio had left the S-Syndicate and decided to live on his own chafed his nerves. Even though he’d said that quitting was an option, in his soul, he’d never considered it possible. Mio would have to inherit the business, no matter what.
“He never regretsss anything.” Tobias stopped blinking, his smile froze, and he started drawing out hissing sounds. “He isss onto sssomething. I feel it in my gut.”
“Then find him and don’t let him out of your sight again. After all, I pay you for it.”
“Fine.” Tobias jerked to his feet, calves hitting the seat. Smoothly, the chair rolled back and knocked against Greg’s knee. “Don’t blame me later if he does something funny, for I have warned you. I’m going to Kabul. Alone. I’ll look for him when I’m back.” He turned to the door but halted. “Oh, by the way, while I’m here, I’ll borrow your intelligence and Greg.”
Without another word, he slipped out of the office.
When Greg turned to follow the blond man out, Yugo blew a breath of irritation. “Hold on a second.”
“Boss?” The bulky man tilted his head to the side, black eyes trained on Yugo.
“What were you doing that you didn’t notice an intruder?” Leaning sideways, Yugo rested his elbow on the armrest and his cheek on his palm.
Greg shrugged. “Not much. I wasn’t notified because he’s whitelisted. That was the deal.”
“This is my house. I don’t like him snooping around. Next time he shows up, have someone follow him around, even to the bathroom.” Yugo dismissed him with a flick of his hand and turned to the window. The fly sat motionless and resigned on the clear glass, apparently tired of the fight. When he sensed no movement behind him, Yugo added, “Starting now.”
“Tobias’ instincts have never been wrong before.” Greg didn’t make a single attempt to leave.
“Is he right about Kuon too? Is it what you think?”
“No,” he replied without hesitation. “I don’t think so. But Mio could get in trouble. That’s a lot of money. Maybe we should use police resources to locate him?”
“No. I can’t protect him for the rest of his life. Also, I’m curious. Just find him.”
With a nod, Greg left the office.
Time seemed tomove differently in solitude. It felt like hours had passed, yet the door behind Kuon’s back had barely warmed. Without Yugo’s shameless touches, there was no one to chase away the venomous snakes of his memories that now swarmed in the corners, hissing and threatening to bite. Spreading, spreading, spreading, poisoning the room with tiny flashbacks.
His mind drifted, falling into a semi-hypnotic state. Everything looked distorted as if viewed through a fisheye lens. The floor bulged before his eyes, so he had to move with caution, probing the way with his foot as he approached the window. He caught the curtain in his hand, maroon velvet wrapping around his fingers. Embroidered with gold thread, the heavy fabric slipped through his grip. He squinted and ran his thumb overthe familiar damask pattern.
The smells and textures messed with his mind, stripping away the thin layer of time that had covered the raw wounds of his darkest memories. The parallel lines of past and present that should never have crossed now collided.
Pain. Humiliation. Misery. The hell of isolation in the confines of this room. The broken spirit and pride brought to its knees.
Darts of flashbacks zapped through his mind’s eye, slashing, hurting. So vivid, they made him feel as if he’d fallen back in time, or perhaps that mentally, he’d never left. His heart raced, his breathing grew shallow, and the urge to escape this damned room for good overwhelmed him.
The walls were closing in on him. Staying here for another moment felt like torture, so he dropped the curtain, turned around, and darted to the door. He grabbed the bronze handle and threw the door open, only to have a shadow rise up in front of him, eclipsing the light, threatening his freedom.
