There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Arthur, are you chasing ghosts again?”

“This isn’t like before,” I snapped. “ I’m sorry Mo- um I mean code name M Falcon but this isn’t like before Something happened today. The store expanded overnight—no construction, no warning. And everything in this new section has my face on it. It’s my branding, my style, but I didn’t create it. I need to know if this is connected to him.”

A sigh crackled through the line. “I told you, we don’t have any evidence that he—”

“Don’t patronize me, Mother,” I growled. “I know what I saw. And I know he wouldn’t have vanished without a contingency plan.”

There was another pause, then her voice softened. “Alright, Arthur. I’ll dig into it. But don’t get your hopes up. You’ve been chasing his legacy for years. Sometimes… you need to focus on your story.”

Her words stung more than I cared to admit, but I ignored the pang of doubt in my chest. “Just please get me answers. I’ll be at the villa tonight.”

“Understood. M Falcon out.”

The line went dead. I stared at the communicator for a moment before shoving it back into my pocket. My mind was buzzing with questions, but one thing was clear: I wasn’t about to let this mystery go unsolved.

As I stepped into my X-Mobile and started the engine, I allowed myself a small, prideful smile. Whatever this was—whether a trap, a gift, or something else entirely—it was my turn to take control.

I turned on the radio before my evil senses started tingling. In front of the car a golden mini me started floating just above eye level. I knew I had to follow it so I did and decided to cause all sorts of trouble on the way. Ignored the speed limit and drove 2 lower than the non existent speed limit at all times. When I got to the apple pie center I even lowered it down to 3 if I even considered calling the police on myself from my side villian but I finally arrived at the park.

The golden mini me gave me a salute to which I saluted back and disappeared as quickly as he came.

As I strode into the park, my boots crunching against the gravel, the faint sounds of birdsong and children laughing began to fill the air. It was all so… idyllic. Almost sickeningly so. My eyes narrowed at the overwhelming normalcy. My evil senses still buzzed faintly, urging me toward something. The golden mini-me had vanished after its peculiar salute, but the path ahead felt as though it had been laid out just for me.

Then I saw it: a family, smiling and laughing as they stood by the edge of a small pond. They were feeding a group of ducks, tossing torn pieces of bread into the water. The ducks scrambled and squabbled over the scraps, their quacks loud and chaotic.

I stopped mid-stride, watching the scene unfold. My jaw tightened. Bread? These fools were feeding bread to ducks? How utterly villainous.

I adjusted my coat, straightened my stance, and marched toward them. As I approached, my shadow fell over their picnic blanket, and the jovial atmosphere instantly shifted.

“Excuse me,” I began, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. The father of the group turned first, his cheerful expression faltering as he looked up at me. The mother followed, clutching her toddler a little closer.

“Yes Arthur can I help you?” the man said hesitantly, his voice tinged with unease.

I gestured toward the loaf of bread in his hand. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to these ducks? Bread? Really?” I let out a disdainful laugh that echoed across the pond. “Bread is not suitable for ducks. You’re feeding them junk food—empty calories that harm their health and pollute the water. How irresponsible.”

The man blinked, clearly taken aback. “I-I didn’t realize—”

“Of course you didn’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Let me educate you, since you’ve clearly decided to take up the role of a villainous duck tormentor.” I reached into the deep pockets of my coat, pulling out a container of pre-washed, diced fruit. Holding it up dramatically, I continued, “Ducks are meant to eat rice, lettuce, seeds, and other natural foods. Like this.”

With a flick of my wrist, I tossed a handful of fruit into the pond. The ducks immediately swarmed toward the new offering, quacking with excitement. “See that?” I said, my tone dripping with smugness. “That’s the sound of gratitude. They know I’m improving their lives.”

The mother opened her mouth to respond, but I held up a finger. “No need to thank me. Consider this a free lesson in villainous benevolence. If I catch you with bread again, well…” I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a dramatic whisper. “Let’s just say I don’t tolerate repeat offenders.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The family nodded rapidly, their expressions a mix of fear and confusion. Satisfied, I straightened and turned on my heel, tossing the empty fruit container back into my pocket. “Carry on,” I called over my shoulder, waving dismissively.

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but smirk. A ruined picnic, a flock of healthier ducks, and my moral superiority firmly intact. It was the perfect balance of chaos and contribution.

“Even in their ignorance,” I muttered to myself, “the masses benefit from my genius.”

Now, with that minor distraction out of the way, it was time to focus. My senses were still leading me toward something greater. Somewhere in this park, the next clue awaited, and I was determined to uncover it.

Then I realized I taught that family this same lesson last week. When I turned back I saw the family bolting while being chased by an angry duck.

I paused mid-stride, watching the absurd spectacle unfold as the family scrambled away, their laughter replaced by panicked yelps. The angry duck, wings flapping furiously, honked in relentless pursuit, its beady eyes locked on its target like a predator. I couldn’t help but chuckle, a low, sinister sound that echoed through the park.

“Serves them right,” I muttered, crossing my arms as the chaos played out. “Ignorance deserves retribution, and it seems nature has taken my side.”

The duck, having successfully asserted its dominance, returned to the pond with an air of victory, leaving the family breathless at the park’s edge. I tilted my head, impressed by its audacity. Perhaps I should recruit this feathered enforcer for my ranks.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. My evil senses were still tingling, pulling me deeper into the park. The golden mini-me hadn’t led me here for idle amusement. I straightened my coat and adjusted my gloves, my mind refocusing.

As I strode deeper into the park, my senses sharpened, honing in on a pull I couldn’t ignore. The air around me seemed heavier, laden with something unseen but potent. I paused by an ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches stretching skyward like claws. My hand instinctively brushed against the bark, and there it was—a faint glint of something metallic half-buried in the roots.

I knelt, ignoring the dirt that threatened my pristine coat, and tugged at the object. It resisted at first, as though it didn’t want to be found, but I persisted. With a final heave, I held the artifact aloft: a small, ornate key. Its design was intricate, almost hypnotic, with interwoven patterns resembling flames and a faint, eerie glow that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

“A key?” I muttered, turning it over in my gloved hands. “Not just any key… it feels… familiar.”

The moment I gripped it tighter, a flood of sensations overtook me. Memories—not mine, but echoes of something larger—rushed through my mind. A grand hall bathed in shadows, flickering candlelight illuminating rows of towering bookshelves, and a voice. My father’s voice.

“The key to everything, Arthur, lies not in the world they see, but in the one you’ve built.”

The vision ended as abruptly as it began, leaving me breathless. I stared at the key, now radiating a faint heat in my palm. This wasn’t meant for the villa, my corporate lair. No, this was meant for somewhere deeper, more personal. My spiritual sanctuary—a place I hadn’t visited since I first donned my father’s mantle.

I clenched the key, tucking it safely into an inner pocket. “Not here. Not now,” I murmured. There was no way I was unraveling this mystery in broad daylight surrounded by quacking ducks and nosy families. Whatever this key unlocked, it would demand my full focus.

But first, I needed to return to the villa. Plans for tomorrow’s chaos wouldn’t scheme themselves, and Jeremy, bless his sycophantic little heart, was bound to have updates on Evil Enterprises’ latest ventures.

The drive back to the villa was, as always, an exercise in villainous indulgence. I ignored every traffic law that suited my whim, weaving through streets at my chosen pace—aggressively slow in residential zones, obnoxiously fast elsewhere. The X-Mobile’s sleek engine purred like a predator ready to pounce, drawing the envious stares of passersby.

When I arrived, the villa loomed before me, its gothic architecture casting long shadows across the estate. Gargoyles perched on every corner, their snarling faces a testament to my refined taste. Inside, Jeremy was waiting in the grand foyer, his ever-present clipboard tucked under one arm.

“Jeremy,” I said, tossing my coat onto a nearby chair. “Status report.”

“Of course, sir,” he began, adjusting his glasses. “The bribes are filed, the accountants are terrified as requested, and the experimental cake-flavored energy drink has been approved for limited release. Oh, and your mother called.”

I raised an eyebrow. “M Falcon?”

“Yes, sir. She said she has preliminary information but needs more time to dig deeper. She also reminded me to tell you to eat something today. Her words, not mine.”

I waved him off. “I’ll eat when I’ve conquered more ground. And Jeremy, speaking of eating—prepare the board for tomorrow. I have a plan brewing, and I need all resources allocated accordingly.”

Jeremy nodded, jotting notes furiously. “Anything specific, sir?”

I tapped my chin, the key’s presence in my pocket a constant reminder. “Let’s start with subtle influence campaigns. Stir the public’s emotions—fear, excitement, hunger for chaos. And make sure our media outlets are primed to spin whatever we unleash.”

“Consider it done, sir.”

I dismissed him with a flick of my wrist and made my way to the study, where I kept my personal archives. The room was a haven of villainy—black leather armchairs, books on strategy and psychology, and a massive desk adorned with relics from my father’s conquests.

Seated in the chair, I pulled the key from my pocket and placed it on the desk. Its glow had dimmed, but the aura of power surrounding it remained palpable. My fingers traced the patterns, and I felt that same pull—the undeniable connection to my father’s legacy.

For now, though, the key could wait. Tomorrow, I’d unleash another wave of chaos upon the unsuspecting world. But tonight, I would plan, consult with M Falcon, and prepare for whatever this artifact had in store for me.