Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) by Andre Gonzalez (books on motivation .txt) 📕

Nothing happened.

When he opened his eyes and saw the demolished Wealth of Time, it finally occurred to Chris that his chances of winning this battle against Martin were dwindling by the second. He had no one to turn to for safekeeping his blood, no way to dodge the trouble facing him by jumping around time.

“They did it,” he whispered. “After all these years, they finally found a way to isolate me.”

He had plans for this situation. They weren’t ideal, considering his age and depleting body, but he’d never go down without a fight, especially against Martin Briar.

“Let’s get back on the jet, gentlemen,” he said to his team waiting behind him. “I have to grab some things, then we’ll be off again. We have a long night ahead, so I suggest you all rest up.”

Chris led the way, his soldiers marching behind him, leaving behind Wealth of Time forever.

Chapter 14

Of all the plans he had for every unthinkable situation that could arise, this one was perhaps the most simple.

“We’re flying directly to the house,” Chris reiterated once on the jet. “I need about ten minutes inside then we’ll be off. Just me and Colin—no one else. I can’t travel with a crew anymore. Colin, once we arrive to our final destination, you’ll be free to leave. I’ll be in touch when I’m ready for a flight back home, but that might take weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” Colin said before disappearing into the cockpit.

Everyone took their seats, Chris off to the side for privacy away from his soldiers. The day had turned him into a child, experiencing particular emotions and events for the first time, at least as far as he could remember. He couldn’t help but sulk.

The destruction of Wealth of Time was more than symbolic for Chris. The store served as an unofficial pillar for the entire Revolution. It had become their main source for recruitment, but more importantly, housed the laboratory responsible for producing over ninety-five percent of the Juice currently in circulation. Chris had refined the process for making Juice, perfecting it to a fine science that anyone could follow. That was why he left Mario in charge of the store and Juice production, a huge load off his shoulders that started shortly after he recruited Martin Briar.

With one of their pillars destroyed, Chris snapped out of his false denial, and now understood the future of the Revolution rested solely in his hands. A decades-long chess match now saw the Road Runners in a position to call check. For Chris, he was down but not out. And would never rollover.

“I need everyone to fasten their seat belts,” Colin said over the intercom. “Expect a rocky landing.”

Everyone obliged, including Chris, who didn’t normally take precautions. He was in no position to take needless gambles.

The jet started its descent, and Chris watched out of his window, his house a small blip in the distance. The lone road near the house was their best option for landing. Chris understood just fine that they had no business landing on the deserted highway on a regular basis, but now was a special occasion that required it.

The jet approached the ground, hovering without committing to touching down, slightly wavering as it seemed Colin was hesitating. After ten more seconds, the wheels touched and everyone in the plane jerked forward, rattling and rumbling heard from the back pantry and bar.

They came to a gradual stop, parked a mere 100 yards away from the house. Orders had already been given, and all soldiers knew their assignments. Colin was to remain on the jet and keep it ready for the next leg of the trip. The stairs opened and Chris was the first one off the jet, jogging down the steps and toward his house.

Being human is awful, he thought, his century-old lungs begging for mercy by the time he reached the front door. All the soldiers who had remained behind were in the same exact positions from earlier.

“You’re all free to return inside,” Chris instructed from the front door. “Protect this house at all costs—I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

He pivoted inside without another word, heading straight for his office where he grabbed a duffel bag from the closet, already stuffed with cash, guns, and ammunition—all any human needed to survive, in Chris’s opinion. He caught a glimpse of the jet through the office window and wondered if he’d ever return to this place. Sure he hated it, but it was one of the few things remaining that he could call his own.

Room had been intentionally left in the duffel bag in case Chris needed to throw in any last-minute items. He rummaged through his desk drawers and found a framed picture of him with his late wife, Gloria, and a young Sonya—Angelina at the time—no older than eight years old. They all had the widest grins, having enjoyed the warm sunshine during their photoshoot in the local park. Life had been hard back then, but it was simple, something Chris longed for in this moment.

Sonya’s innocent eyes caught his attention, joyous, youthful, and filled with a bright ambition that had never really waned. He had long forgotten the sensation of love, but knew if he could claim the emotion for anyone, it was certainly his little girl. He only hoped her death had been painless, and felt a tinge of guilt at the prospect of never finding out what happened.

“The circle of life,” he said to the empty room. “Just like Martin Briar went his whole life without knowing what happened to his daughter. Now he wants to deliver that same verdict to me?! I’ll be damned if I let him. As soon as this blows over, I will find out the truth!”

He stuffed the photo into the bag, his heart set on surviving this rough patch and getting the answers he deserved. After one final scan he departed the house and started his next