Peter arrived home after his early morning run, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but it wasn’t enough to clear his mind. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Jessica had already left for work, as he expected, but a pang of guilt hit him as soon as he opened the door and saw the kitchen. There, sitting innocently on the countertop, was a note scrawled in her familiar handwriting:

"Peter, I tried calling you. Hope the run helped clear your head. I’m worried about you. Call me when you’re free, okay? Love you. Jess."

He glanced at his phone, noticing several missed calls and a few unread messages from her. His thumb hovered over the screen, considering whether to respond, but something inside him recoiled. How could he explain to her what was happening when he barely understood it himself? He’d dismissed her concerns earlier, brushing her off in pursuit of answers. And now, seeing her note, the guilt gnawed at him even more.

"Sorry," he whispered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

In his mind, two lives were colliding, fighting for dominance. One version of Jessica was his wife, his partner of 25 years, the woman who had stood by him through thick and thin. But in another version, she wasn’t part of his life at all. It was a dizzying contradiction, one that made his heart ache and his head throb.

He sighed and grabbed a pen from the drawer, quickly scrawling a note in return.

"Sorry! Love you. Peter x"

He left it on the counter, hoping it would bridge the gap, if only for now. But deep down, he knew this wasn’t a problem that could be solved with a few words on paper.

Peter moved into his study, pulling up the search window on his computer. He typed in Paul Brettell and waited, his fingers tapping impatiently against the desk as the search results loaded. But nothing useful came up. There were a few old academic articles and references to his father, Dr. Peter Brettell, but no leads on where Paul might be. No contact information, no recent activities. It was as though he had vanished.

“Damn it,” Peter muttered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen, unsure of his next move. But then, something in the search results caught his eye—a listing for Peter Brettell. His breath hitched as he clicked on the link, expecting to find another long-forgotten article about the senior Brettell’s tragic fall from grace. After all, in his memory, Peter Brettell had been institutionalized years ago, locked away in a mental facility after his work drove him to madness.

But that wasn’t what he found.

Instead, there was a biography. Dr. Peter Brettell: Senior Lecturer in Theoretical Physics at Wilder Academy. The academy was a prestigious private school, known for its high standards and elite students. What the hell was Brettell doing there? And more importantly, how was he even teaching?

Peter stared at the page, his mind reeling. In his old reality, Peter Brettell was a madman, a cautionary tale about the dangers of pushing the boundaries of science too far. But now, he was a respected academic?

"This isn’t right," Peter whispered to himself, the knot in his stomach tightening.

He dug deeper, searching for any record of Brettell’s institutionalization, but there was nothing. No mention of his breakdown, no record of his time in the Fairfax Mental Hospital. In this new reality, Peter Brettell had never been committed. He was an esteemed professor, his career intact.

The implications were staggering. The shift hadn’t just altered his own memories—it had changed other people’s lives entirely. If Peter Brettell had never been institutionalized, what else had shifted? What else had been rewritten?

Peter shut his laptop and stood up, pacing the room as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Brettell was the key. If anyone could explain what was happening, it was him. He had to track him down, had to get answers. But the fact that Brettell was teaching at the Wilder Academy was unsettling. It meant that this reality—this altered version of the world—had gone deeper than Peter had imagined.

His hand hovered over the laptop again. Wilder Academy… Wilder. The name rang a bell. He typed the name into the search bar, and the results that came up made his mouth drop open.

John Wilder—CEO of Montera Industries, billionaire, global celebrity.

“No way,” Peter breathed, leaning in closer to the screen.

It was scrawny John. The same John who had worked on his task force, the same kid who couldn’t keep track of his own shoelaces, let alone come up with a cohesive theory on why Venus had vanished. He’d been a brilliant mind, sure, but so unfocused that Peter had often considered cutting him loose from the project altogether.

And now this same kid—John Wilder—was running a global tech empire? Montera Industries was everywhere—artificial intelligence, quantum computing, biotech advancements. They were leading the world in innovation, and John Wilder was at the helm of it all. Peter shook his head, unable to comprehend how the bumbling, disorganized kid he’d once known could be this same powerful figure.

“How is that possible?” Peter muttered, his hands shaking slightly as he clicked through more articles, images of John Wilder smiling at board meetings, shaking hands with world leaders, giving speeches at international conferences. This wasn’t the John he knew—the young man who’d wasted hours on fringe theories and side projects that led nowhere.

His mind struggled to reconcile the two realities, but one thing became painfully clear—this wasn’t just a simple shift in memories or a few people’s lives being altered. This was something bigger. Something deeper. If John Wilder could rise from an eccentric researcher to a billionaire CEO, what other changes had this shift triggered?

Peter stood up from his desk, pacing as the enormity of the situation hit him. The shift hadn’t just rewritten personal histories; it had rewritten power, influence, the very structure of society. And if it had affected people like John Wilder and Peter Brettell, how far did it really go?

He scribbled another quick note to Jessica, apologizing again, before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. The morning air hit his face as he stepped outside, invigorating and cool, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiling in his chest.

As he climbed into the car, his phone buzzed with another call. He glanced at the screen: Jessica. His gut twisted, the pull of his old life and his new one battling inside him. But he couldn’t pick up. Not now. Not when the answers he needed were so close. He silenced the call, ignoring the voice inside him that told him he was making a mistake.

This wasn’t about Jessica. It wasn’t even about him. This was bigger than all of them. And if Brettell could provide the answers he needed, then maybe—just maybe—he could figure out a way to fix this mess.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

As he pulled out of the driveway, Peter made one final decision. He would find Brettell, no matter what it took. And he wouldn’t stop until he understood what had happened to his world—what had happened to their world.

Because if Peter Brettell could still be a professor in this reality, and John Wilder could run a global empire, then who knew what other shifts had occurred? And who was responsible?

----------------------------------------

Peter’s car pulled into the expansive campus of Wilder Academy, a place that looked more like a high-tech fortress than a school. Sleek buildings of glass and steel gleamed in the afternoon sun, a far cry from the traditional ivy-covered walls of most institutions. The name “Wilder” still sat uneasily in Peter’s mind, a stark reminder of how reality had shifted so drastically. John Wilder, of all people, had somehow gone from a bumbling scientist to a tech mogul, and Peter still struggled to wrap his head around it.

But he wasn’t here for John. Not yet, at least.

As he parked and made his way across the well-manicured grounds, Peter checked his phone again. Still nothing from Jessica. He’d ignored a few more of her calls, feeling that familiar knot of guilt tightening in his chest. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, focusing on the task at hand. He needed answers, and Professor Peter Brettell was the key.

He had expected to find Brettell locked away in some dingy office, teaching fringe theories to a handful of students who shared his eccentric passions. But the Wilder Academy was anything but fringe, and as Peter approached the main building, he felt a strange sense of unease. Everything about this place screamed prestige, innovation, and success—the kind of environment that seemed incompatible with the Brettell he remembered. The Brettell who had been institutionalized for his erratic behavior.

As Peter stood in the pristine lobby of the Wilder Academy, he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of unease. Peter stared at the towering holographic displays, showcasing the academy’s latest achievements. He watched a clip of a student manipulating a floating set of quantum particles, guiding them through the air with nothing more than a series of hand gestures. Another display detailed breakthroughs in quantum computing that seemed light-years ahead of anything Peter had encountered. The names of the faculty flashed beneath each project, and it wasn’t lost on him how prestigious the academy had become in the scientific community.

His mind wandered back to John Wilder. Scrawny, distracted John, the brilliant but utterly chaotic member of his task force. How was it possible that this kid—the same kid who once showed up to a classified briefing with his shoes untied and a stack of comic books tucked under his arm—had become the CEO of one of the largest tech empires in the world? It seemed absurd, almost laughable. But then again, everything about this new reality was absurd.

John had answers, Peter was sure of that. There was no way someone like John had risen to such heights without understanding the shift that had taken place in the world. He had always been brilliant, but directionless. If the shift had done anything, it had given John the focus and discipline he’d sorely lacked before. But getting to John now—getting him to talk—was a different story. You didn’t just call up one of the richest men on the planet and ask for a meeting. Especially not with the kind of questions Peter had in mind.

Still, the answers didn’t start with John. They started here, with Brettell. At least, that’s what Peter had convinced himself of as he walked through the academy doors. The Brettell equations were key—he was sure of it. Those strange, erratic formulas had something to do with the shift in reality, and Paul Brettell had been at the center of it all, whether he knew it or not. Going directly to the source was always the best policy, and as much as Peter wanted to grill John, he knew he had to start with the man who had first set the wheels in motion.

It was also practical. Peter had been involved in enough high-level government investigations to know how to approach a mystery like this. Follow the trail of evidence, uncover the most obvious leads first, and only go for the big fish when you’re sure you’ve gathered enough information. Charging straight at John would likely end with him being brushed off by a team of security or PR reps. But if Brettell held the key, or even part of the key, Peter could get the full picture before facing the juggernaut that John had become.

As he paced around the sleek lobby, his gaze drifted to the sharp, modern lines of the academy’s architecture. The place felt sterile, almost too perfect, but that was probably the point. Every inch of it was designed to project an image of intellectual superiority, as if those within its walls were privy to knowledge beyond the reach of the ordinary world. And maybe they were. After all, Peter had spent his life surrounded by people who thought they were the smartest in the room. In a place like this, those egos must be practically insufferable.

The receptionist’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked, not quite looking up from her tablet.

"I'm here to see Professor Brettell," Peter said, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

The receptionist tapped a few keys on her screen before nodding. "He's currently in the quantum mechanics lab. I’ll let him know you’re here."

Peter thanked her and waited, feeling a little out of place in the sterile, high-tech environment. A few minutes later, the doors to the far hallway opened, and a man in his late fifties walked briskly toward him. He looked different from the Brettell Peter remembered. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, his posture upright and confident. He wore a tailored suit that suggested a man of importance, and there was a light in his eyes that Peter hadn’t expected—a spark of energy, of excitement.

“Mr. Briggs, is it?” Professor Brettell greeted him with a firm handshake, his voice warm but hurried. “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush. My boss just assigned me to a new project—very exciting stuff, you know. What can I help you with?”

Peter quickly fell into step beside him as they moved through the sleek corridors of the academy. He could feel the urgency in Brettell’s pace, but he wasn’t about to let the man rush off without getting some answers.

“I’ll be quick,” Peter said. “I wanted to ask you about the Brettell equations.”

Professor Brettell glanced at him, his brow furrowing slightly. “The Brettell equations? That’s a broad topic. Can you be more specific?”

Peter swallowed, realizing he didn’t have much to go on. “I don’t know the exact details, but I know your son worked on them.”

Brettell stopped walking abruptly, his demeanor changing in an instant. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker. He turned to face Peter fully, his voice losing the warmth it had just moments ago.

“Why do you want to know about my son?” he asked, his tone sharp and defensive.

Peter hesitated, sensing the shift in the professor’s attitude. “I... I think he might have information that could help me understand what’s happening.”

Brettell’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Paul is a waste of space,” he muttered bitterly. “He threw away everything—his potential, his career. Last I heard, he was probably drugged out of his mind somewhere.”

Peter was taken aback by the venom in Brettell’s words. This wasn’t just disappointment; there was genuine contempt in his voice.

“I still need to talk to him,” Peter said, pressing on despite the tension. “Do you have any contact details?”

For a moment, Brettell said nothing, his eyes boring into Peter’s as if trying to decide whether or not to trust him. Then, with a sigh, he pulled a small notepad from his pocket and scribbled down an address. “This was the last place I knew he was staying,” he said, handing the paper to Peter. “But don’t expect much. He’s not the man he used to be.”

Peter took the address, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. “Thank you,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He could sense that there was more to Brettell’s story, but the professor’s impatience was clear.

Brettell gave a curt nod, already turning to leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Good luck with Paul.”

With that, he hurried off down the corridor, his excitement for the new project clearly outweighing any lingering concerns about his son. Peter watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. This wasn’t the Brettell he remembered, not by a long shot. And the way he had dismissed his son so easily—it didn’t sit right with Peter.

As he made his way back to his car, the weight of the situation pressed down on him. Paul Brettell was the next piece of the puzzle, and he had a sinking feeling that finding him wouldn’t be easy. But he had to try. Whatever had happened to Paul—and to reality itself—was bigger than any one man. And Peter wasn’t going to stop until he figured it out.

Before starting the engine, Peter glanced at the address Brettell had given him,Westside, that place was a cesspit. He had no idea what condition Paul would be in, or if he would even be coherent enough to provide any answers. But one thing was clear: this mystery was far from over.

With a deep breath, Peter started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward whatever lay ahead.