CHAPTER THREE


    Threads of Fate


    Morning light pried through the curtains of Vivek’s suite, zeroing in on his eyes like a searchlight. So much for the island getaway. Sleep had been a joke anyway—his mind kept spinning on Hartman’s proposal. If he saw potential in this SynapseSync business, others would too. In the shark tank of quantum computing, secrets got out faster than you could say IPO.


    He sat up slowly, the mattress too soft, the sheets too fine, as if luxury itself had become an irritant. The subtle scent of tropical blooms drifted from the open balcony door, but what once promised relaxation now felt cloying and stale. He rubbed his temples, remembering how the world never really let him rest. Even here, far from the usual chaos, pressure found him. Outside, a distant seabird cried—mocking him, perhaps. Competition never slept, and his own nerves had learned that long ago.


    He climbed out of bed, feeling that familiar knot in his stomach. Every VC firm worth its salt was prowling for the next quantum breakthrough. Hartman’s hybrid approach looked bonkers on paper—but “bonkers” often spelled “breakthrough” in his experience. Missing this chance would sting.


    He glanced at the minimalist décor, each piece of furniture curated to whisper “you’ve made it,” and felt only unease. A low hum from the villa’s cooling system reminded him that while technology soothed creature comforts, it also bred a hunger for more. More speed, more power, more insight. Beneath it all was that worry: he might lose the edge he’d built his empire on. He paced the room, bare feet against polished stone, heart thudding in a quiet, insistent rhythm.


    Maya Manalang’s name drifted into his thoughts. She’d turned heads at DARPA with her AI work. A mind that could dance with code until it sang. Perfect. If anyone could spot fatal flaws, it was Maya. He tried calling—no answer. Three times, straight to voicemail. Odd for someone who once debugged quantum encryption during her own wedding reception. The silence spooked him. In this line of work, timing was king. Hesitate and someone else would claim the prize.


    He walked to the balcony, letting bright sunlight stab his eyes, the ocean gleaming too perfectly. Had Maya gone underground for some reason? Was she caught in the same race, or perhaps entangled in side deals and quiet alliances? He considered the empty horizon, ripples of water catching light, trying to glean patterns where none existed. The air was warm and still, offering no hints.


    He packed mechanically, clothes folded with military precision while his brain ran hypothetical scenarios. In quantum computing, once one person cracked a key problem, the pack followed. The luxury villa now felt like a trap—five-star comfort mocking his tension.


    As he slipped items into his suitcase, the faint click of zippers and the rustle of fabric sounded unnaturally loud. He imagined the silent scorn of the invisible staff, hired to maintain this illusion of ease. Even in paradise, he was just another player juggling half-lies and urgent whispers. The reality of his world intruded on every carefully arranged orchid display.


    His tablet pinged with market updates. Tech stocks jittery, massive investments flowing into quantum startups. Everyone felt something big in the air, even if they didn’t know what it was yet.


    He scrolled absently, eyes flicking over charts and percentages. Behind each data point lurked human ambition, fear, and greed. If Hartman’s theory was even half-valid, the entire landscape could shift overnight. Suddenly the jets, the resorts, the silent cars—everything he used to measure success—would become props in a bigger game. His finger paused over a headline about increased patent filings. Nerves tightened in his chest again.


    Then the universe decided to mess with him. The taxi conked out halfway down the mountain, belching steam. He had to scramble for a backup ride just to reach the airport, only to find flights grounded by a sudden storm. Classic. Should’ve kept that private jet instead of trying to impress the board with “efficiency.”


    He stood on the tarmac for a moment, cursing under his breath, the sky a slate-gray canopy pressing down. Damp wind teased his collar, and he caught a whiff of engine fuel. Airport workers in neon vests hustled around, oblivious to his internal panic. He felt trapped in a slow-motion reel, every setback another grain of sand in an hourglass.


    Hours later, he finally reached San Francisco, the city draped in its usual damp fog. The taxi crawled toward UC Berkeley as if moving through molasses. Every holdup felt deliberate, like the universe had orchestrated a farce at his expense.


    He tapped his foot on the car’s floor mat, noting how the driver’s eyes remained fixed ahead, neutral, unhurried. The city outside blurred into silhouettes of skyscrapers and half-seen greenery. His mind spun narratives: maybe someone wanted him delayed, maybe chance was laughing at his urgency. Either way, he clenched his jaw and waited, a man powerless against traffic and drizzle.


    At the campus, something felt off. Too quiet. Berkeley’s quantum lab usually hummed with energy, even off-season. Now it felt abandoned. Maya’s office: locked. Grad students: missing. Another voicemail, another letdown. The department secretary wouldn’t meet his eyes, muttering about a “family emergency.” Maya, who once lectured via video link from her daughter’s dance recital, taking off without a trace? Please.


    He lingered in the hallway, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Old flyers for seminars and colloquia curled at the edges on bulletin boards. The faint smell of old coffee and dusty paper reminded him of his early career, back when ambition had been simpler. Now, the stakes felt cosmic. He suppressed a sigh and moved on.


    Outside, beneath sickly yellow streetlights, his phone kept pinging with market alerts. Patents up three hundred percent. Major players announcing “breakthroughs” in suspicious sync. He was playing blind, groping in the dark while competitors snatched the spotlight.


    He flipped through the alerts, noticing patterns in the timing. Firms that never touched quantum tech were suddenly bragging about prototypes. A sense of unreality settled in. He rubbed his tired eyes and stared at a cracked section of pavement. Every detail, even a broken sidewalk, felt like a puzzle piece.


    A rumpled postcard on Maya’s desk had shown a sunny beach scene and a chipper “Wish you were here!” Maybe a clue, maybe nothing. He went home and buried himself in printouts of Hartman’s designs. Sleep deprivation painted everything in sharper relief. The more he studied, the more Hartman’s idea glowed with promise—or maybe he was just delirious.


    He sat at his sleek dining table, ignoring the spectacular bay view outside the window. Piles of papers and digital schematics had replaced gourmet meals and polite dinner conversation. A single overhead lamp cast harsh light, turning the glossy surface into a glare of white reflection. He fidgeted with a pen, tapping it against the table in an irregular staccato.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Maya’s disappearance bugged him. Too convenient. Rumors drifted through the industry grapevine: massive strides in neural interfaces, bidding wars for top researchers, quiet power shifts. And now Hartman shows up and Maya goes AWOL? The timing stank of backroom deals.


    He leaned back, chair creaking, and thought about the late-night whispers at conferences, the nods and winks that signaled insider knowledge. He’d been on both sides of that game. Now he found himself locked out, pacing the sidelines, unsure who held the hidden keys.


    San Francisco’s fog thickened every morning, as if to remind him he was working blind. The city’s towers peeked in and out of view like smug phantoms. He knew something was brewing in quantum tech, something that would redraw the map. He was stuck waiting for one brilliant, maddening professor to reappear and confirm he wasn’t chasing a ghost.


    He watched ferries glide over the bay, their lights fuzzy through the mist. Seagulls cried overhead, and distant horns sounded like questions he couldn’t answer. His apartment’s hush pressed in, each polished surface mocking his uncertainty. He missed a time when he could trust his gut without second-guessing every shadow.


    Then she waltzed into his office one afternoon, casual as a coffee run.


    “Dr. Manalang,” he said, heart thudding. “This is… surprising.”


    “Unexpected?” She smiled, too crisp, suit too perfect. “Let’s just say the family issue wrapped up quickly.”


    The air in the office felt charged, as if static electricity hummed in the corners. He’d had this place designed to impress: subtle backlighting, tasteful abstract art, plush seating arranged to hint at collaboration without sacrificing hierarchy. Now all he could see was Maya’s guarded posture and that flicker in her eyes.


    She looked tired beneath the polish. Strain around the eyes, a single hair out of place—a tiny imperfection that told him something was off. He wondered what pressures she’d faced, what levers had been pulled behind the scenes. Her pen clicked twice, a nervous tell he filed away quietly.


    “How’s everyone? Richard, the kids?” he ventured.


    Her expression tightened at Richard’s name—anger, fear, something he couldn’t read. “Kids are great. Zoe’s into piano now, Ethan’s just… everywhere.”


    He caught the slip in her voice, the way it softened at the mention of her children. Despite their high-stakes world, family slipped through cracks in professional armor. A reminder that even genius researchers and corporate titans had vulnerabilities. The overhead lights reflected off her wedding band, a subtle glint.


    Her phone lit up with a kid’s art. Genuine warmth crossed her face, then vanished behind her professional shield. “You didn’t call me here to discuss my family. What’s this revolutionary concept you need vetted?”


    “Hartman’s quantum hybrid.” He pulled up schematics. “He says neural integration changes the game.”


    He half-expected her to laugh it off, but she leaned forward, studying the displays. He could almost see the gears turning in her mind, sorting signal from noise, fact from fantasy. The digital diagrams hovered in the air, ghostly projections of possible futures. His pulse quickened. He needed her approval, or at least her insight.


    She raised an eyebrow. “Alex Hartman? And neural data guiding quantum logic?” Her pen tapped softly. “Sounds like sci-fi. But let’s see.”


    Quiet minutes passed as she examined the architecture. He leaned against his desk, trying to read her face, her posture. When she finally spoke, it was with that distant tone experts use when they’re half-lost in their own brilliance.


    As she scanned the designs, her posture shifted. For all her wariness, her curiosity was genuine. She explained it in a metaphor he could grasp: an orchestra guided by a quantum jazz band, classical order meeting quantum exploration. SynapseSync would supply the human intuition spark.


    He nodded along, feigning casual understanding. Inside, he tried to imagine quantum states dancing through a labyrinth of probabilities, refined by flashes of human insight. It felt both wondrous and unsettling, like peering through a keyhole at a universe he’d never fully comprehend.


    Vivek tried to look unconvinced. “I don’t speak quantum. Think in spreadsheets and market signals, remember?”


    She smiled, a real one this time. He felt a small victory there—her guard dropping just an inch. “Okay, simpler. The quantum layer tosses out possibilities, the classical layer imposes structure, and the neural data adds a human twist. It’s elegant. Still… how do you get that neural data? CerebriTech guards it like crown jewels.”


    His half-smile in response carried its own meaning. He knew how to unlock doors, how to grease wheels. Yet he said nothing, letting the silence hint at solutions too delicate to name. She understood; her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t press.


    Maya’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you do. Just remember, the bigger the ambition, the bigger the ethical traps. Hartman’s math might be solid, but mixing minds and machines? That could get ugly fast.”


    He shrugged, as if ethics were just another line in a cost-benefit analysis. The world rewarded results. Morality was negotiable. He didn’t have to say it—she knew.


    He nodded, though he was already thinking past the warnings. Ethics were obstacles, and obstacles could be managed. She agreed to review the documentation carefully. As he walked her out, he noticed how quiet the city seemed beyond his windows, how the bay’s haze made everything uncertain.


    In his silence, he remembered old lessons: push too hard, break something valuable. Go too soft, get left behind. Finding the balance was always the trick. He watched Maya’s reflection in the polished elevator doors as she departed. She was brilliant, and brilliance came with its own fragilities.


    “You realize,” she said at the door, “this could revolutionize computing—if it doesn’t blow up first.”


    “My instincts say it’s worth the risk,” Vivek said softly.


    He imagined the data streams, the code, the qubits humming in quantum superpositions. His heart hammered with anticipation, dread, and excitement all braided together.


    “Your instincts made you rich,” Maya replied. “But quantum mechanics doesn’t care about your gut feelings, and ethics boards care even less.” She gave a small nod and left.


    The door closed with a subtle hiss, leaving him alone. The overhead lighting suddenly felt harsh, spotlighting his anxieties. He poured himself a scotch, each amber drop a small comfort. He’d faced impossible odds before. This time, though, the stakes were higher. Minds and machines, tangled at a fundamental level.


    He replayed their conversation, dissecting tone and word choice. Maya’s support was crucial, but her integrity was a sword that could swing either way. Behind him, the city twinkled, skyscrapers poking through fog. He tried to picture the future that Hartman’s idea might bring. More than profit—this was about shaping how people understood themselves.


    Companies were jockeying for advantage in this quantum arms race, and he couldn’t stand still. If he waited for approvals and safeguards, the moment would pass. Someone else would take the prize.


    He sipped the scotch, enjoying the heat down his throat. In the distance, a horn blared—a ship, maybe, leaving port. The world never stayed still. Change was the only constant, and he had built a career on surfing those waves.


    He studied his reflection in the window, distorted by raindrops. The world of quantum computing was spinning faster, ethics be damned. Boundaries were for people who settled for second place. Was he that kind of person?


    He clenched his jaw, recalling past gambles that paid off big, and a few that nearly sank him. He’d learned to trust his instincts. Now they told him this path, dangerous though it might be, was too important to ignore.


    He downed the rest of the scotch. In this game, you either push forward or watch someone else reshape the world. Maya’s warning echoed in his head, but he knew what he had to do. He’d handle the details—and the consequences—later.


    The glass clinked softly as he set it down. The night pressed close, a silent audience to his decisions.