The flashes of a thousand cameras turned the podium of the Croft Enterprises press room into a blinding supernova. The world was watching the “Resurrection.”
Alistair stood at the microphone, looking somber but strong. He spun a masterful tale, his voice cracking with rehearsed emotion. He spoke of a “shadow syndicate” of industrial rivals who had kidnapped him ten years ago, holding him in a remote bunker, forcing him to fake his death to protect his family.
“I survived for them,” Alistair lied, wiping a non-existent tear. “I survived to come home.”
The room erupted in applause. Journalists wept. The stock ticker on the wall behind him shot upward–green arrows spiking vertically. The world hailed him as “The Returned King”.
Standing in the wings, William watched with a sickening realization. The public bought it. They saw a survivor. But William saw the way Alistair stood–too straight, too confident. This wasn’t a man who had been in a cage; this was a man who had been waiting in the wings.