Chapter IV

Chapter IV

A Change of Scenery

Glen interrupted our conversation without warning.

“How about a change of scenery?”

At once, an image formed in my mind: an old London pub—dark wood, subdued light, a glass of good whisky or a pint of beer. The perfect place to calmly discuss a collaboration that was beginning to take shape.

“Exchanging London’s gray fog for warm sunshine,” he continued, slightly throwing me off balance.

“You don’t have any urgent plans for the coming week, do you?” Glen added. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

A whirl of thoughts spun through my head.

Since the auction—and the outrageous sum I had received for the artifact—my former partners had suddenly become very active. They were persistently seeking a meeting, hoping to claim, if not everything, then at least the greater share. The intensity of their pursuit left little doubt: they would find ways to convince me that our agreement had been misunderstood.

That, in fact, was one of the reasons I had accepted Glen’s invitation. Staying in Chicago would have been unwise. And the farther I put myself from my former associates, the better.

We exchanged a look, and once again I felt that strange sensation—as if he could see straight through me.

“I can see you don’t object,” Glen said. “You can have a glass of your favorite whisky on the way to Italy.”

“Italy?”

“You don’t like warm seas and young wine?”

“It’s hard to argue with that.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” he said. “Even if time itself is not particularly important—” he smiled briefly, “—in your world it remains a pressing factor.”

Another of his peculiar remarks.

Glen stood, carefully placed the artifact into a metal case, and headed for the exit without hesitation.

This day is becoming anything but dull, I thought, following him.

I hesitated for a moment when Glen started going up the stairs instead of down—but I followed him nonetheless.

Of course. A helicopter.

The unmistakable sound of rotors descending grew louder above us. Naturally, he wouldn’t take a taxi and sit in London traffic, I thought with a smile. Faster would probably only be teleportation.

And then—almost as if he had heard my thoughts—Glen abruptly turned. For a second he stood still, looking at me, then shook his head—almost disappointed—and hurried on toward the rooftop.

Convenient, damnably convenient.

Private helicopters, planes, yachts… I sank into a wide leather seat aboard Glen’s aircraft, sipping whisky. As one might expect, it was my favorite brand.

But the year?

I hadn’t even known that vintage was still available.

Glen sat opposite me with his eyes closed. But he wasn’t sleeping. Beneath his eyelids, his pupils flickered like a hard drive indicator. A rapid-eye sleep? Or something else entirely?

As always, he opened his eyes without warning.

“Good whisky?”

“The best.”

“Care to keep me company?”

“Sorry, I don’t drink,” he replied calmly. “I find no pleasure in it.”

“Then why keep a bar like this?” I nodded toward the shelves. “There’s at least a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of liquor here.”

“Let’s call it a tribute to the customs of your society,” Glen said evenly. “And a courtesy for guests.”

“Fair enough,” I said, not arguing. “Your plane.”

I took another sip. The amber liquid spread warmth across my palate and down my throat.

Let this be my vacation with an eccentric millionaire, I thought. I’ve earned it.

Glen had not lied.

The dark, rain-heavy London sky gave way to a velvet sunset as we emerged from the clouds, descending toward a solitary island stretched across a turquoise sea.

“Athena? Zeus?” I pointed at the statues rising behind the Temple of Apollo. “What the—where did all this come from?”

“A private joke,” Glen replied. “The island was a gift from a friend. The statues came with it.”

“Of course,” I muttered. “What else do you give a billionaire, if not a private Greek island complete with the Athenian pantheon?”

But then came another surprise.

I caught myself standing with my mouth slightly open, a foolish, blissful expression frozen on my face.

A goddess stood before me.

She seemed to appear out of nowhere, greeting us as if she had stepped straight from the sea foam—perfectly suited to the island itself. Her extraordinary beauty embodied all my fantasies at once.

I think I’ve just found my love.

“Are you coming?” Glen’s voice pulled me out of my stupor. “Serena will escort you to your apartments.”

I was still standing on the steps of the aircraft, unable to look away.

Odysseus in the arms of Calypso, a thought flashed through my mind.

Every emotion, every doubt, every remnant of self-preservation vanished. Like a lamb, I surrendered to the siren’s charm.

“Yes… I’m coming,” I muttered. “The sun is very bright. I have sensitive eyes…”

A foolish excuse. I put on my sunglasses and obediently followed Serena. She smiled charmingly and gestured for me to come along.

I walked as if hypnotized, admiring the graceful lines of her figure, swallowing hard.

Let them lead me to sacrifice.
Let Calypso cast her spells.

If this is the end—let it be here.
On this island.
In the dream I have always wanted.