Chapter 22: THE DINNER
The restaurant occupied a corner of a West Village brownstone, all exposed brick and candlelight, the kind of place where prices weren't listed on the menu because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.
Sara was already seated when I arrived. Eight o'clock exactly—she was always on time, probably had been her entire life. I'd learned that about her in our brief interactions. Punctuality as armor, precision as protection.
"You found it," she said as I slid into the chair across from her.
"Your directions were detailed."
"I don't leave things to chance."
The waiter appeared with menus and a wine list the size of a short novel. Sara had already studied both, her choices made before I arrived.
"The Barolo is excellent," she said. "Unless you have objections."
"None."
She ordered without looking at the menu. The waiter departed with the particular deference of someone who recognized a regular.
"You come here often?"
"Often enough." Sara's expression carried something I couldn't quite read. "It's where I conduct business that requires... discretion."
"Should I be flattered?"
"You should be curious about why I'm not meeting you at a coffee shop."
Fair point. The upgrade from casual to formal suggested expectations I hadn't fully calculated.
"The probate access," I said, steering toward safer ground. "I spoke to my contact. Estate records should be accessible by Friday. I'll need you to submit a formal request through Sterling Bosch, but the approval will go through."
Sara's eyes narrowed slightly. "That fast?"
"My contact owed me a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
"The kind that doesn't bear examination." I met her gaze directly. "You want the access or you want the details?"
"Both, eventually." But she let it drop. "Friday works. The Pemberton estate connects to at least three other cases I'm working. If the records confirm what I suspect..."
"Then you'll have evidence of systematic fraud across multiple insurance claims."
"Exactly." She leaned back as the wine arrived, watching the waiter pour with the attention of someone who'd learned to spot quality. "You have interesting friends, Aron. Friends in probate court, friends at the FBI, friends in places I probably don't want to know about."
"I've been building a network."
"For what purpose?"
The question cut closer than she intended. For what purpose? Survival. Advantage. The slow accumulation of power in a world that had dropped me into someone else's body with nothing but borrowed memories and a system I didn't fully understand.
"Insurance," I said. "Against uncertainty."
The appetizers arrived—carpaccio for her, burrata for me. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the business portion of our meeting concluded but something else taking its place.
"How did you get into consulting?" Sara asked, setting down her fork. "The real version, not the sanitized one."
"What makes you think there's a difference?"
"Because there's always a difference." Her smile carried edges. "I've been investigating fraud for eight years. I know when someone's editing their story."
I considered my options. The full truth was impossible—transmigration, systems, borrowed identities. But partial truth might work. Might even be necessary, if this relationship was going to become what I suspected it could.
"I had a career," I said slowly. "Corporate finance. Good money, respectable work. Then I saw things I couldn't ignore. Made choices that burned bridges." The words were technically accurate, even if they described someone else's life. "When the dust settled, I had to start over. Different name, different city, different everything."
Sara studied me for a long moment. I could see her evaluating, comparing my words against her instincts, deciding how much to believe.
"You're not telling me everything."
"No."
"Neither am I."
The acknowledgment hung between us, an agreement to accept partial truths rather than demand complete ones.
"Why insurance investigation?" I asked, turning the examination around. "There are easier ways to catch fraudsters."
Sara's expression flickered—surprise, then something softer. Most people didn't ask her questions. They talked about themselves, assumed she was interested in their stories.
"My parents were both law enforcement," she said. "My father was NYPD, my mother FBI. They expected me to follow one of their paths. I chose insurance investigation to annoy them."
"Did it work?"
"For about six months. Then my father said investigating insurance fraud was 'basically police work without the benefits,' and my mother said it was 'the private sector equivalent of counterintelligence.' They found ways to be proud of me despite my best efforts."
The frustration in her voice was affectionate, the complaint of someone who'd been loved relentlessly by people she couldn't quite escape.
"They sound exhausting."
"They are." But she was almost smiling. "What about yours?"
The question hit harder than expected. I thought about the parents I'd had in my first life—distant, practical, gone before I could properly mourn them. And the parents Marcus Webb had known, whose memories sometimes surfaced in dreams I couldn't quite control.
"I lost everyone when I started over," I said. "Building new connections is harder than I expected."
True, in the ways that mattered. The loneliness of transmigration wasn't something I could explain to anyone. The weight of living in a borrowed body, carrying borrowed memories, building borrowed relationships.
Sara was quiet for a moment. Then she reached across the table and touched my hand—brief, deliberate, the first physical contact between us.
"Starting over is the hardest thing," she said. "But you seem to be managing."
"Most days."
Dessert arrived—tiramisu for her, nothing for me. I watched her eat with the focused attention of someone who genuinely appreciated good food.
"This wasn't terrible," Sara said, setting down her fork.
"High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head." But she was smiling now, the professional armor showing cracks. "You're not what I expected, Aron Dark."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone more... calculated. More strategic." She gestured vaguely. "You clearly are those things. But there's something else underneath. Something that doesn't fit the corporate refugee narrative."
"Good or bad something?"
"I haven't decided yet."
The check arrived. I reached for it before she could protest.
"I promised to pay."
"That was before I ordered the expensive wine."
"The wine was exactly what I expected." I signed the receipt without looking at the total. The expense was worth it—building this connection, establishing this trust.
[RELATIONSHIP UPDATE: SARA ELLIS]
[STATUS: PROFESSIONAL → PERSONAL INTEREST]
[+7 RELATIONSHIP POINTS]
We walked out together into the spring evening. Manhattan hummed around us—traffic, voices, the endless energy of a city that never truly slept.
"This wasn't terrible," Sara repeated, her voice softer now.
"Same time next week?"
She considered the question. I could see her weighing options, calculating risks, deciding how much vulnerability to permit.
"Different restaurant," she said finally. "I'll choose."
"Deal."
She hailed a cab, opened the door, then looked back. Something in her expression that I couldn't quite name.
"Goodnight, Aron."
"Goodnight, Sara."
The cab pulled away. I watched until it disappeared into traffic, then walked home the long way.
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: RELATIONSHIP MILESTONE]
[+100 EXP]
[CURRENT: 2,000/2000]
[LEVEL UP AVAILABLE]
The notification pulsed at the edge of my vision. Level four, waiting to be claimed. I dismissed it—not here, not now. Tonight was for processing something the system couldn't quantify.
Connection. Genuine, unexpected, complicated.
I'd forgotten what that felt like.
MORE POWER STONES And REVIEWS== MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ In The Witcher With Avatar Powers,In The Vikings With Deja Vu System,Stranger Things Demogorgon Tamer ...].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!