Chapter 6- Unforgettable hosts

The low hum of the engines filled the cabin as Atlan Wolfe leaned back into the leather seat, restless despite the luxury around him. Steve, his agent, was busy scrolling through emails while Ryan Hill, his lawyer, was already halfway into a pile of contracts. Atlan, however, had one focus, Carter Enterprises.

His phone screen glowed in the dim cabin light as he scrolled through article after article.

George Carter. Billionaire, owner of the empire, philanthropist, yacht enthusiast. Every headline painted him as larger-than-life, the kind of man who could buy and sell entire hockey franchises without flinching. Atlan frowned, lingering on a photo of the silver-haired man stepping off a yacht with the grace of someone untouchable.

This is the guy giving me a second chance?

The weight of it pressed down harder than the altitude. He studied the man's sponsorship deals, charity galas, sports events. Carter was everywhere, backing winners, shaping industries. And beneath his name was a footnote that made Atlan pause.

Two children.

Atlan clicked, but the details were thin, just mentions of heirs, nothing personal. The vagueness felt intentional, and it gnawed at him. He wasn’t just preparing for a business conversation, this was a man who held the strings of his future. Atlan needed to be ready.

The plane jolted as the pilot announced descent. Atlan shut his phone off and clenched his fists, silently repeating the same mantra he’d whispered since he signed the contract.

Don’t screw this up.

Chicago air greeted them with flashing lights and shouts. The second Atlan stepped off the plane, a swarm of cameras descended like vultures.

“Wolfe! Why’d you walk out on the Flyers?”

“Is it true the Blackhawks are your rebound team?”

“Think you can actually handle the pressure?”

Microphones were shoved in his face, camera flashes blinding him. Atlan kept his jaw tight, pushing forward, Steve and Ryan flanking him like bodyguards. He hated this, the circus, the noise, the strangers who thought they knew his story.

“Eyes forward,” Steve muttered, steering him. “You stop for one, you stop for all. Don’t feed them.”

Through the chaos, Atlan spotted a familiar face. Norman stood just beyond the crowd, waving calmly, a black sedan idling beside him. Relief surged through Atlan as they pushed their way toward him.

Norman greeted them with his usual warmth, handshakes all around.

“Atlan, glad you made it. Steve, Ryan, welcome to Chicago.”

“Appreciate you being here,” Atlan said, gripping his hand firmly.

They slipped into the car, doors shutting out the roar of the press. For the first time since landing, Atlan exhaled.

The hotel was discreet, the kind of place where paparazzi couldn’t just barge in. They barely had time to settle before Norman appeared again, crisp and composed.

“At eleven,” he told them, “a car will be waiting downstairs. Carter wants to meet personally. Don’t be late.”

Atlan nodded, guess it was time to meet his soon to be boss.

———————————————

By the time the elevator doors slid shut inside the Carter penthouse building, Atlan was wound tight as a spring. His phone buzzed endlessly with notifications, tweets, sports blogs, angry Flyers fans. He scrolled anyway, ignoring the sour taste in his mouth.

Traitor.

Sellout.

Washed-up Wolfe.

The words cut sharper than he wanted to admit.

Steve leaned over, plucking the phone from his grip. “Enough.”

“Steve…”

“They’ll say whatever sells headlines. You start believing it, you’re already playing defense. And you don’t play defense, Wolfe. You attack.”

Atlan smirked faintly despite himself. Steve always had a way of grounding him.

The elevator chimed. A butler greeted them and led them through marble halls that gleamed under soft lighting. The space screamed wealth, but not in a gaudy way, quiet, expensive taste.

The butler opened French doors, revealing a balcony set with an elegant table overlooking the Chicago skyline. The view was breathtaking, Lake Michigan glittering under the sun.

They took their seats, drinks poured instantly. For a moment, it was almost relaxing.

Atlan chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll be honest. Didn’t picture George Carter in a penthouse. Thought he’d have some sprawling estate outside the city. Feels too… modern for him, don’t you think?”

Steve smirked. “Not all billionaires live in mansions, Atlan.”

“True,” Ryan added dryly, “but most at least try to look the part.”

A new voice cut through, smooth and steady.

“Well, not all billionaires like being predictable.”

Atlan froze. Slowly, he turned toward the source.

A young man stepped into view, dark hair neatly styled, confidence radiating from every line of his posture. He wasn’t George Carter. He was younger, sharper, with eyes that held the kind of cool amusement that made Atlan feel instantly off-balance.

“And you are…?” Atlan asked, eyebrows knitting together.

The stranger’s lips quirked into a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Carter, Owner of Carter Enterprises.”

The words landed like a puck to the chest. Atlan’s pulse spiked. This wasn’t the graying billionaire he’d studied at 30,000 feet.

“Umm… you don’t quite fit the description of George Carter,” Atlan said, narrowing his eyes skeptically. “I was expecting someone with at least a sprinkle of white hair. You look way too young to be the man I’ve seen plastered all over the tabloids unless, of course, you’re secretly a vampire.”

The words slipped out before he could stop himself. A sharp kick landed on his shin under the table, courtesy of Steve. Atlan coughed, disguising the wince that nearly escaped him.

James Carter’s lips twitched, barely suppressing a smile. In that instant, he realized Atlan clearly hadn’t been told about the change in leadership at Carter Enterprises. Mischief sparked in his eyes, why ruin the fun so soon?

He pulled out a chair, settling directly across from Atlan. His gaze locked onto the hockey player’s face, eager to watch every flicker of reaction.

“Well,” James began smoothly, his tone conspiratorial, “we don’t typically disclose such… personal details to the public. But since you’re almost part of the family now, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch, his smirk widening.

“We conduct scientific experiments. Using young men like you, athletic builds, strong genetics. We extract their components to keep ourselves young, defying nature. Quite remarkable, isn’t it?”

All three pairs of eyes, Atlan’s, Steve’s, and Ryan’s, widened in a mixture of disbelief and alarm.

Atlan froze, the wineglass in his hand trembling before he set it down with a clink. He straightened, staring hard at James. “But… the pictures. The articles about you online, you look completely different there. Won’t people notice?”

James leaned back, twirling the edge of a napkin between his fingers with casual ease. “Change is inevitable, Mr. Wolfe. We adapt every day. Why should an external transformation matter?”

Atlan’s chair scraped as he pushed it back, his voice edged with rising panic. “This is messed up, man. Is that why you want me here? To use me as one of your test subjects?”

James suppressed the chuckle bubbling up in his chest, keeping his tone smooth. “Relax. We’ll pay you whatever you want, Atlan. And we both know you need the money.”

Steve shot up from his chair, protective instinct written all over his face. “Mr. Carter, this wasn’t part of the deal. When your scout..Norman, was it?..approached Wolfe, he failed to mention any of this. If this is the kind of arrangement you’re proposing, we’re out.”

A slow clap echoed through the room, breaking the tension.

All heads turned as a tall, striking woman entered with deliberate grace. Sophia Carter’s heels clicked against the floor as she approached the table, her expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Well,” she drawled, eyes cutting to her brother, “I see you’ve managed to terrify our guests within five minutes. What a performance, James. Truly, Broadway should be calling.”

She stopped clapping and turned her attention to the stunned trio. Her voice softened, though still laced with sharp authority. “My apologies, Mr. Wolfe. My brother has a habit of… indulging in theatrics. I’m Sophia Carter, Chief Operating Officer of Carter Enterprises. And this…” she tilted her head toward James, who now wore a mischievous grin “...is James Carter. My brother. The CEO of Carter Enterprises.”

James finally let out the laugh he’d been holding back, a wide smile lighting up his face. His eyes twinkled with playful arrogance as he leaned forward.

“Welcome to Carter Enterprises, Atlan. I trust you’ll find we’re… unforgettable hosts.”