The Ghost of a Promise

Brandon's POV The lingering taste of scotch had been replaced by the bitter but necessary tang of rehabilitation, the dull ache of illness by the sharp, invigorating burn of renewed purpose. My recovery had been swift, almost aggressive. As soon as my body was willing, my mind had snapped back, demanding action. The Thompson Group had been adrift for too long, its rudderless course a stark reflection of my own. I had wasted months, indulging in self-pity and reckless abandon, while my legacy, my family’s empire, teetered. That was over. Now, my office felt like a second skin, the rhythmic hum of my laptop a soothing balm compared to the chaotic thrumming of my own agitated thoughts. Quarterly reports, market analyses, new acquisition proposals – the familiar demands of running a multinational conglomerate were a welcome distraction, a disciplined focus that kept the ghosts at bay. I was back. Better, stronger, clearer. But beneath the veneer of corporate efficiency, one thought, one na