The kind of smile they probably taught in Executive Assistant Bootcamp, right after the courses on "How to Schedule the Impossible" and "Making Coffee for People Who Could Buy Colombia."
"Yes, how may I help-?" She stopped. Her whole countenance glitched, and only extreme discipline stopped Jack from chuckling out loud.
The record scratch of human cognition was almost audible. Her brain's error message probably looked something like: "Fatal Exception: Doppelganger detected. Reality.exe has crashed. Would you like to restart sanity? Y/N”
Jack caught the double take before she could recover. Her eyes flicked from his face to the internal security feeds, back to his face, then- realization.
He watched her mental gears grinding -seeing his face on the security monitor showing Jacob in a meeting room, then seeing the same face standing before her. The cognitive dissonance must have felt like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube that kept adding new colors every time she blinked.
He read the name etched into the plaque on her desk.
Jacob seemed to like his assistants named like they belonged in an 80s sitcom. Probably gave him some sort of a power complex.
"Hi, Chrissy," he greeted smoothly, tilting his head. He spoke with a tone that said "We both know this is weird, but I don’t have to be the only one of us who is enjoying it."
Her spine straightened. Like someone had replaced it with a titanium rod. The universal response of someone whose day just took a sharp left turn into Weirdville, population: her.
For a moment, he saw the calculation behind her eyes. This wasn’t just a case of mistaken identity -this was protocol breaking down in real-time.
The beautiful thing about human brains is how desperately they try to make sense of the nonsensical. Like watching someone try to assemble IKEA furniture without instructions -lots of confusion, some creative problem-solving, and an end result that probably shouldn't be sat on.
Because who was he? A lost twin? A cousin? A son? The boss's bastard?
The possibilities scrolled across her face like options in a video game dialogue tree, each one more unlikely than the last.
He smirked.
"I'm here to see my brother."
Chrissy swallowed. That word. Brother.
He watched it settle over her, throwing all her pre-built assumptions into chaos.
In the grand play of corporate life, he'd just rewritten the script mid-performance. The understudy suddenly claiming to be the real star, showing up in the middle of Act Three with revised dialogue. It was the kind of plot twist that would make M. Night Shyamalan say, "Maybe dial it back a bit."
She was good, though. She recovered quickly, smoothing her hands over her desk. The universal gesture of someone trying to iron out the wrinkles in reality itself. As if by straightening a few papers, she could straighten out the cosmic joke unfolding before her.
"Of course," she said, only a slight stutter betraying her.
The "of course" that actually meant "what the absolute hell is happening? But I'm paid too well to question it."
She froze, and Jack could tell she was listening to something only she could hear. A moment later she rebooted, and her professional secretarial demeanor was back in full force.
She stood, gesturing toward the massive double doors at the far end of the office. "He's expecting you."
Jack straightened his shoulders, his smile sharpening. Time to reunite with dear old brother. Family reunions were always so fun -especially when one of you had been to another realm and back while the other was building an empire, using your name.
∞
Jack followed her to the doors, noting how smoothly they opened. Not even a creak. No resistance. Like they'd been baptized in WD-40 and blessed by the patron saint of silent entrances.
Jack flicked his gaze over the hinges, the reinforced framework. The subtle indicators of something more than mere decoration.
Stolen novel; please report.
His years in the Otherworld had taught him to read objects like texts -to see the story behind their creation, the purpose behind their form. These doors weren't just trying to make a statement; they were preparing for war.
Jack could tell that Jacob had designed them to withstand serious firepower. The kind of doors you'd want between you and the apocalypse -or an angry ex with a flamethrower.
Good to know.
Chrissy hesitated at the threshold, then spoke carefully: "Sir, your brother has arrived."
Jack saw the momentary hesitation before the word "brother" left her lips. The millisecond where her brain glitched, trying to reconcile the impossible equation of two identical men. One who ruled from a corporate throne. And the other -she couldn’t place him. There was something unnerving about him that kept her on edge.
If confusion were an art form, this moment would hang in the Louvre. A masterpiece of mental gymnastics, worthy of Olympic gold.
She gestured for him to enter, stepping aside like someone opening the gate to the gladiator arena.
Her movement had all the subtle theatricality of someone who knew they were facilitating a historic moment but was trying very hard to act like it was just another Tuesday. The corporate equivalent of saying "This is fine" while the room burns around you.
Jack stepped inside.
Jacob was standing behind his imposing black desk, hands clasped behind his back, his posture severe. Every inch the corporate overlord. He might as well have had "I eat startups for breakfast" tattooed on his forehead.
He stood like a man who practiced power poses in the mirror each morning while reciting affirmations about market domination and hostile takeovers. The human embodiment of a LinkedIn motivational post -all confidence and sharp edges, with just a hint of sociopathy peeking through the polished veneer.
The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him framed the city, stretching out toward the water. Manhattan laid out like a circuit board of human ambition.
From this height, people were reduced to pixels in the great display of humanity. Tiny creatures scurrying about their meaningless lives while titans moved markets with a single email. The perfect backdrop for a man who'd elevated himself above the masses, both literally and figuratively.
It was an impressive view. A view for kings.
Jack's gaze flicked to the two security operatives standing too still at either side of the room. Hidden muscle. The kind that didn't advertise their lethality but wore it like a second skin.
Unlike the escort guards downstairs, these men carried themselves differently. The stillness of predators. Eyes that tracked everything but revealed nothing. The kind of men who could kill you eighteen different ways without changing their expression or spilling their coffee.
Jacob hadn't come alone. Smart.
His brother didn't turn immediately. Not at first.
This allowed Jack more than enough time to study him. The same broad shoulders. Our usually tousled hair expensively coifed. A slick suit -probably cost him a fortune. And a presence.
For a few seconds, he lingered, a monarch staring out at his kingdom. A calculated pause designed to establish dominance. The corporate equivalent of a wolf making the rest of the pack wait.
It was the oldest power move in the book, like something from "Dramatic Entrances 101." Jack almost wanted to applaud the theatricality of it all. In another life, Jacob could have been a fantastic stage director -he certainly had a flair for the dramatic.
And then -he turned.
As his eyes landed on Jack, he blanched. There followed a three-act play of realization, performed in microseconds across the canvas of Jacob's normally controlled face.
Recognition. Shock. Fear.
Like he'd seen a ghost. Which, in a way, he had -the ghost of a life that should have been impossible.
All that carefully constructed corporate confidence crumbled like a sandcastle hit by a tsunami. The facade of the untouchable CEO giving way to the naked humanity beneath -a man confronted with the impossible made flesh.
Jack didn't miss it.
The subtle tightening of his fingers. The nearly imperceptible hitch in his breath. The heart-stopping momentary glitch in the perfect corporate machine.
These tiny tells were like reading a novel in the spaces between words. In his prior life, Jack had learned to notice the things that weren't said, the movements that were suppressed, the thoughts that were swallowed before they could become actions. Jacob might as well have been screaming.
A glance -too quick, too sharp- at the security detail flanking the room. And then, just as fast-
"Leave."
His voice cut the room. Not loud, but with the weight of someone who never had to repeat himself.
The kind of voice that had ordered mergers and acquisitions, that had ended careers with a single syllable, that had shaped the economic landscape of nations while most people were still deciding what to have for lunch.
Every guard snapped to attention. Like expensive robots with a thin veneer of humanity painted on -programmed to obey without hesitation, to see without observing, to hear without listening.
Chrissy froze.
Even the two security operatives who had escorted Jack hesitated. Their programming momentarily conflicted -protect the boss versus obey the boss.
The beautiful moment of system error, when contradictory commands create a temporary blue screen in the human operating system. Protect. But leave. Stay. But go. The paradox of service.
Jacob didn't repeat himself. He didn't have to.
Within seconds, the doors hissed shut behind Jack, sealing with a distinct hermetic lock. He heard it.
A quiet, deliberate hiss -air-tight. No interruptions. No escape. Good.
The sound of privacy being weaponized. Of a conversation being contained like a hazardous substance that couldn't be allowed to leak into the wider world.
Just them. The twins who weren't twins. The paradox in human form.
Like a cosmic joke with no punchline, or perhaps a punchline that was still being written across the fabric of reality itself. The universe's most elaborate "who wore it better" competition, spanning worlds and warping identity itself.
Jacob exhaled slowly.
His voice, when he spoke, was not the voice of a mogul. Not the voice of a tech empire king.
It was the voice of someone caught in something impossible. A man who'd just seen his carefully constructed reality begin to fracture.
The voice of someone who'd just realized they were a character in a story they didn't write, and the author had just introduced a plot twist they never saw coming.
"You."
- Followers go up? Boom, bonus chapter.
- Favorites go up? Ka-ching, bonus chapter.
- Reviews? Cue the confetti -bonus chapter and a shoutout, because I care.
- Ratings go up? You guessed it -bonus chapter. (And I might even crack a smile. Maybe.)