"He was a friend from my previous life."

The tension in the room was thick as if requiring a knife to cut through it. There was a long silence as the two parties began to process the information.

"So, who is he to you?" Nacio asked.

"He's an interesting individual," Michael said, reminiscing on old times. "He's the smartest person I know, adult or kid."

"Smart or knowledgeable?" Nacio believed that the two were worlds apart, and frankly I agree with him. Being knowledgeable is better than being smart; knowledgeable is application whereas smart is theory.

"Both. He's an intellectual," Michael said with a small grin. "Yet he's spiteful."

Michael stared forward at the empty hall deep in thought. It took a while before he finally spoke again, "He can help us," Michael said confidently.

Nacio looked at Michael and saw his conviction. He turned away and rubbed his head. He was left in a big dilemma. There was seemingly no way I would agree to help them after being tortured. The conviction he saw in Michael's face however left no room for doubt. They needed me.

"We need to arrest those soldiers now!" Nacio said quickly as soon the idea popped into his head.

"I don't know if that would work," Michael said. "If he's angry, he'll seek his own revenge."

"He wants blood."

"No, not blood," Michael corrected. "He'll want to torment them mentally."

Nacio let a breath out. "An spiteful intellectual who enjoys mental torment rather than physical. He's a psychotic narcissist."

"Yet he is the most capable person I know," Michael said. "He has a Rubik's complex. If there's a problem that interests him, he'll do anything he can to solve it."

Nacio stared into Michael's eyes as he asked one question, "The whole world knows him as Henry Zephyr's son, but who is he really?"

"His parents ran a company called Zephyr Consulting. To many people, they've never heard of it," Michael began. "But in the business world, it's a giant. The best consulting company with the best strategies. They're advice has been estimated to generate hundreds of billions of dollars."

"But about a fifth of that was made by the advice of one person, Zack Zephyr," Michael said before staring his grandfather in the face. "If business is like a chess game, Zack doesn't only play the game, he chooses the setting, the board, pieces, hell even the audience."

Nacio let out a long breath. "He's that good," He hummed out.

"People call him many things. The Virtuoso, Moriarty, but one name stands out above the rest."

"The Prince of Strategy."

-----

To truly understand someone, you have to know their past. Sure, you may think that you know your friends well, but everyone wears a mask. It is human nature to try to fit in. So if you can never trust someone, you have to draw your own conclusion, and the most accurate way to do that is to know what made them. What events led to our present self.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I'm not only talking about Michael. Don't get me wrong, the story I'm going to tell is how we meet.

But in order to understand what happens next, you have to understand my upbringing.

As the reader, it is your role to predict. To judge. To interpret. I can tell you things, but at the end of the day, I only exist for your entertainment. You get to choose how you see me, and I am only here to plead my case.

"Do you have everything memorized?"

"Yes, I made the plan. Everything is in my head," I answered. My parents and I were in England inside a limousine.

"You can never be too cautious," My father answered. His voice, while sounding empathetic, was not like a father talking to his son, but rather a boss talking to his employee.

"This is important to us dear," My mother said in that same voice. "Landing this client will give us a foothold in a new industry."

"Yeah yeah, I know," I responded quickly, tired of their fake compassion. I looked at my reflection in the window and adjusted my suit.

"You're attitude better be nicer when we reach there," My father said somewhat threateningly.

"I told you that I would agree to play nice if Jordan came along," I grumbled, putting an end to the conversation.

"Fix your hair," My father said looking for a small victory. He wasn't a man who typically lost battles, so he would try his best to win any battles against me.

"What's wrong with it?" I questioned as I ran my hand through my hair. When my hand reached the end, it dropped back to its original position. It was messy but still flowed to the right only covering a small part of my forehead.

"It looks like you just got out of bed," He answered.

"That's the style nowadays," I responded, not backing down. "And isn't that who they're marketing to? The younger generation? They'll appreciate it."

My father hummed at my response realizing that I was right. He was going to fight a losing argument, so he decided to switch the topic. "So, will you tell us your fascination with Jordan?"

"We're just friends," I answered, fixing my bowtie.

"People are only friends with others that either interests them or others that can benefit them," My father said. "He can't benefit us, so that leaves us with interest. What do you find so interesting about a nobody?"

"No, that's why your friends with people," I replied back. "I enjoy his company."

My father chuckled as if he just heard a funny joke. "My theory is that you like being around ordinary people because then you don't have to live up to a reputation as a genius. You get to play stupid or smart."

Deep down, I knew he was right. There were no expectations of me at school nor anyone who looked up to me. If I just did better than average, I would get recognition. I was just like everyone else, another face in the crowd. A stark contrast to my home life where I was expected to be better than the best, read in between the lines, figure out the impossible. All that and not getting so much as a good job or well done.

I looked over to my father with defiant eyes. I may be beat, but I wouldn't show it. He knew he won as well, as his eyes reamed with happiness from victory.

"That's not all," He continued on, showing just how much he had won. "I think you're attracted to broken people because they make your morals seem brighter than they really are."

'Broken?' I thought. I was barely able to stop my eyes from widening upon hearing his words. 'How does he know?'

"Did you have him investigated?" I asked. My voice was calm yet carried a hint of anger.

"I did," He admitted before he began to whistle. "Imagine my surprise to find out that his mother is dead."

I didn't let my real emotions show. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. "So, you're just telling me to rub it into my face?"

"I'm telling you that there are some battles that you can't win," He said.

My brain wouldn't accept that as an answer. I'd been trained my whole life to never lose a battle, to always find a solution.

"Truth is singular, words are plural," I repeated words that he had told me several times. "You want me to win our little battle."

His smile shifted to a fatherlier one. His mouth stayed close, waiting for me to continue. My mind raced looking for a thread for me to pull. My mind was drawn to the papers filled with details about the business, it's revenue, it's plans for expansion. It all flashed through my mind until something stuck out.

"You don't have to win every fight to win the battle," I said. He looked at me with renewed interest. "There's a very simple strategy that can make them profit hundreds of millions."

"Oh, do tell," He said. His smile was no longer fake, instead it was warm. The very same warm smile that I constantly seek out no matter how much I didn't want to obsess over it.

The smile was radiant as it made me feel warm on the inside. The feeling was comforting. A reward for my efforts.

"Who says that we have to play by England's rules?" I said as I began explaining my idea.