The Tragedy Script

Max opened the book again. This "update" had dumped a ton of intel on him, and he needed to parse it out, piece by piece.

First off: his future rescue operation was definitely a bust.

Lily got hurt, he got knocked out, and he still got framed. That seemed to be the fixed outcome of this event.

His finger traced the lines of text, finally resting on his own dying words. He tapped the paper thoughtfully.

"In this life... only regretting that I couldn't punch my way out of a paper bag... hope you stay safe in this timeline..."

That sentence... it felt deliberate. Like he had left it specifically for himself to find. He had explicitly mentioned "timeline."

And he'd pointed out exactly why the mission failed: Couldn't punch my way out of a paper bag.

Translation: His combat stats were trash, and he got KO'd instantly.

Okay, fair enough. The opponent was a former Police Captain. It wasn't surprising he lost. Max had been too confident, thinking he could take down an elite-level boss just because he bought some starter gear. Result? He crashed and burned.

But the most shocking part wasn't the failure. It was that his "future self" was consciously leaving messages for his "current self."

Sure, it was a dying message...

But it proved one thing: Communication between the future Max and the present Max wasn't just possible—it was already happening.

So, here was the million-dollar question: If Max deliberately obsessed over buying a lottery ticket right now, would tomorrow's updated "journal" magically reveal the winning numbers for the next drawing?

Future Max was still Max, after all. They shared a soul and a driver's license number. There had to be some level of telepathic bro-code between them, right?

Yes! It was totally worth a shot.

Forget the stock market. That was small potatoes. Nailing the Powerball meant instant billionaires' club. Private jets, here we come.

Max wiped the imaginary drool from his chin, dragged himself out of his Scrooge McDuck fantasy, and forced his brain back to the analysis.

The Max in the Justice Delayed timeline was obviously way sharper than the version in The Hustle. Or maybe, getting thrown back in the slammer for Round Two had finally made that version of "him" realize how useless it was to be stuck in a cell.

The problem was the information gap. Future Max was locked up, cut off from the world, so he couldn't feed Current Max any juicy intel.

In The Hustle timeline, the last ten years of prison life were painted with broad strokes—just a vague "ten years later" title card.

But this time? The bulk of the journal focused on those ten years. Future Max had gone full detective mode, digging up every skeleton in the enemy's closet.

Letting Hazel ghostwrite the journal to see the case through her eyes? That was a stroke of genius.

Max, who rarely gave compliments, practically patted himself on the back. You magnificent genius, you.

He pulled out his phone and Googled "Schuster Corporation."

Schuster Corporation.

One of the top ten private conglomerates in Sutherland State. Their portfolio was a monster: finance, real estate, hospitality, tourism, healthcare... you name it, they owned it.

Headquartered in the imposing Meridian Tower in downtown Sutton, their tentacles reached everywhere—across the tri-state area and beyond. Total assets exceeded $300 billion. Annual sales topped $50 billion. They employed over ten thousand people.

Max let out a low whistle. Terrifying.

The further he scrolled, the colder his blood ran.

Especially when he hit the "Leadership" tab. The CEO’s name glared back at him in bold, black letters: Victor Sterling.

Max rubbed his temples.

Hazel, Hazel... what kind of dragon did you decide to poke?

He kept digging. Buried deep in the search results, he found a small, overlooked tabloid headline from a few months back.

Rumors Swirl: Schuster CEO Victor Sterling and Wife on the Rocks? Schuster Corp Issues Official Denial.

Max connected the dots to the "Schuster-Gould Divorce Case" Hazel had mentioned in her journal. The picture was becoming clear.

In the corporate world, an official denial usually meant the rumor was 100% true.

Hazel really had been a rookie—gutsy, but naive.

High-stakes divorces like this weren't just family disputes; they were wars over billions of dollars in assets. And they always followed the same script: the husband held the keys to the kingdom, controlling the company and the cash flow, while the wife was left in the dark about what the business was actually worth.

In court, the man held all the cards.

That made a good lawyer dangerous.

And when the stakes were this high—billions on the line—people didn't just play dirty. They played deadly.

The future proved it. Victor Sterling hadn't even needed to swing a fist. He just moved a pinky finger, utilized a dirty cop like York, and forced Hazel to drop the suit. The cost to him? Zero.

Even when York eventually got caught, the Schuster Corporation didn't even wobble.

Hazel hadn't written about the final outcome of the divorce case, but the math was simple. If they worked this hard to crush Hazel, they definitely had a plan B for the wife. Victor Sterling almost certainly walked away with everything.

“No wonder both my future incarcerations mentioned ‘public opinion’,” Max thought. “With Schuster’s money, hiring a bot farm to spin the narrative against me would be child’s play.

“And there had to be a mole in the police department working with York. That’s the only explanation. The second time, I was prepared. I had cameras. I had gear. And they still framed me? That’s impossible unless the cops were in on it.”

The tactical gear he bought couldn't have been useless.

If the killer was a former Detective Captain... then someone on the force was cleaning up the crime scenes for him.

I thought I was fighting a lone wolf, Max realized. I didn't know I was walking into a pack.

“What a mess...” Max sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

He thought he was dealing with a simple grudge. Instead, he’d stumbled into a billion-dollar conspiracy.

Why is it so hard just to live a quiet life and die of old age?

He felt like a fly thrashing in a spiderweb. The more he struggled to break free of fate, the tighter the silk wrapped around his throat.

But then, a darker thought took hold.

“A human life... is that all it is to these people? Just a stumbling block to be kicked aside?”

Max felt a surge of pure loathing for this Victor Sterling he’d never met.

The news called him a "philanthropist," a "visionary," a "pillar of the community."

Bullshit, Max thought. Even if a demon wears an Armani suit, it still drinks blood.

He stared at his phone for a long moment. Then, he dialed.

Zenith Law Group

“Ms. Lane, here are the files you requested on the Schuster-Gould case. Included are the asset proofs provided by Ms. Grace Gower herself.”

The assistant placed a heavy stack of documents on Hazel’s desk.

“Thanks. You can go.”

Knock, knock.

The assistant had barely left when two sharp raps sounded on the open door.

Hazel looked up from the mountain of paperwork. A woman with long, wavy hair and a business suit that fit a little too perfectly was leaning against the doorframe, smiling.

“Hannah. Can I help you?”

Hazel’s voice was cool. She didn't stop working, only glancing up briefly.

Hannah Lee didn't wait for an invitation. She smoothed her pencil skirt and sat in the chair opposite Hazel. Her eyes flicked over the documents on the desk, gleaming with calculation.

“Ms. Lane. Word on the floor is you picked up the Victor Sterling divorce?”

“News travels fast, Hannah. Yes, it’s no secret. I’ve accepted Mrs. Gower’s retainer. We sent the initial filing to Schuster Corp two days ago.”

“You really don't have a fear gene, do you?”

Hazel frowned. “Is there a point to this, Hannah?”

“The Schuster Corporation is a titan in Sutton. They own half the politicians in this state. If Zenith takes this case, we’re effectively declaring war on them. You realize that, right?”

“I’m aware. I analyzed the risks with Mr. Howell, and he signed off on it. Zenith isn't afraid of a little heat.”

Hazel leveled a stare at her colleague.

“No matter how big Schuster is, Victor Sterling is just a citizen. In a court of law, he stands on the same level as my client. Do you have a problem with that?”

Hannah Lee held up her hands in mock surrender, smiling.

“Not at all. I admire your courage, really. If you pull this off, you’ll make junior partner for sure. Consider this my early congratulations.”

“I’m just doing my job. Thanks, Hannah.”

Hazel watched Hannah saunter away, her hips swaying a little more than necessary. She frowned.

I want to break free... I want to break free...

The sudden blare of Queen’s anthem from her phone snapped Hazel out of her thoughts.

She glanced at the screen. Unknown number.

“This is Hazel Lane.”

“Hey. It’s me. Mr. Maximum.”

Hazel blinked. “...”

“Whoa, don’t hang up!” Max shouted, anticipating the click. “Two sentences. That’s all I need, then I’m gone.”

Hazel sighed, annoyed. “Make it fast. What do you want?”

“You just took on the Schuster-Gould divorce case, didn't you?”

Hazel froze.

“How... how did you know that?”

Shock rippled through her.

Hannah Lee knowing was one thing—she worked down the hall. But a random insurance salesman? How could he possibly know about a confidential case filing?

She almost checked her phone to see if it was trending on Twitter.

“Cough. You know how it is in insurance,” Max breezed. “Pay is lousy, but you meet a lot of people.”

Bullshit.

“You investigated me?” Hazel’s shock turned to anger.

But it didn't add up. He’d only left her office an hour ago. In sixty minutes, he’d managed to dig up her confidential caseload? Who was this guy?

Some trust fund kid playing commoner? A spy? A darker version of Jason Bourne?

Whoever he was, he sure as hell wasn't selling life insurance.

“I did a little digging. For Lily’s sake,” Max said, his voice dropping the playful tone. “But that’s not the point. The point is Victor Sterling.”

“What about him?”

“He’s not just a rich guy, Hazel. He’s dangerous. And he’s not going to fight fair.”

“What do you know?” Hazel demanded. “And how do you know it?”

“Well...”

Max paused.

If I told you that I spent a lifetime in another timeline letting a high-powered attorney work for me for free to analyze this exact case, you wouldn't believe me.

That attorney didn't just waive her fees; she was practically my biggest fan. She even wrote my epitaph.

Pretty badass, right?