Lex tapped the closed file once, finalizing the decision in his mind.
Then, without looking up, he said calmly,"Jonathan. Take the interns and get some sleep."
Jonathan snorted, rubbing his eyes."I don't think I physically can at this point."
Lex arched a brow. "Try harder."
Jonathan sighed, running a hand through his hair, but there was no real argument left in him. "You're really staying up to go through more of this alone?"
Lex leaned back in his chair, smirk lazy but eyes sharp."I'll take care of the place."
Jonathan studied him for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if I come back and find out you've uncovered another national treasure, I swear to God—"
Lex chuckled. "Then you'll handle it, like always."
Jonathan muttered something about "impossible billionaires" before waving the interns toward the door. The exhausted group shuffled out, relieved.
As the last one disappeared down the hallway, Jonathan paused at the doorway.
"Don't stay up all night."
Lex just smirked. "No promises."
Jonathan rolled his eyes but didn't push.He knew better.
The door clicked shut. The house fell into silence.
Lex exhaled, fingers tapping against the old wood of the desk. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached back into the cabinet.
More letters.
Some still sealed, wax unbroken. Others worn from time, from hands that had held them before.
But one caught his eye.
The envelope was thicker, heavier. The edges slightly yellowed, but the ink—bold and clear.
His name.
But not as he was now.
To Lexington Maddox Latham, on his 32nd birthday.
A letter to a man he would never become.
Lex's breath slowed.
He ran a thumb over the wax seal, pressing into the old imprint.
Then—he cracked it open. The wax seal broke cleanly, the parchment inside unfolding with a soft whisper.
Lex hesitated for the briefest second.
Then—he read.
"Lexington,
By now, you should understand. Not just wealth, not just power, but the weight of a name. Of legacy.
I wonder, did you build? Did you create? Or did you let the world turn you into something small—something that takes, rather than makes?
At thirty-two, you should have a family by now. A wife. Perhaps a child. Something that reminds you that what we leave behind isn't just in vaults and galleries, but in people. In love.
If you've done well, you will read this with quiet satisfaction. If you have failed, you will read this and feel it like a blade.
Either way, you will understand that I was right.
Do not let history decide who you are. You are more than what was taken from you.
Bernard Maddox I."
Lex's fingers tightened against the paper.
His jaw clenched, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
Thirty-two. Married. A life that never happened.
A man he never got to be.
Lex let out a slow, measured exhale, folding the letter carefully. His hands were steady.
Then, without another word, he reached for the next envelope.
Lex set the letter aside, fingers running along the edges of the next envelope.
No dust. No signs of neglect. Someone had kept these safe.
He flipped it over, eyes narrowing at the seal.
To Lexington Maddox Latham, on the day you take over Maddox Holdings.
Lex exhaled sharply.
A future that never came.
He broke the seal, the parchment unfolding beneath his hands.
"Lexington,
If you are reading this, then you have taken your place. The weight is yours to carry now.
You will find no wisdom in this letter—only a warning.
Maddox Holdings was built on ambition, on sharp minds and sharper knives. It will never love you. It will never serve you. It will test you, shape you, and if you are not careful—consume you.
Power is the most intoxicating lie in the world. It convinces men they are untouchable. Do not fall for its illusions. Control the beast, or become its prey.
And remember this: if you had to betray yourself to win, you have already lost.
Bernard Maddox I."
Lex's grip tightened.
He had never taken Maddox Holdings.
Not in the first life. Barnie had made sure of that.
And now—he didn't need it.
He set the letter down, his mind quiet, razor-sharp.
His great-grandfather had left these letters for a version of him that would never exist. But he was still here.
And this time—he would not be the one to lose.
Lex reached for the next envelope. His name, again. Another path that never was.
He broke the seal. The wax seal snapped cleanly, the parchment unfolding with the same weight as before.
Lex's eyes flicked over the words, reading faster this time—searching.
"Lexington,
You should be a father by now. If you are not, then I will assume one of two things—either you have been too consumed by power to allow love into your life, or you have lost something you cannot replace.
Both are tragedies.
I will not tell you what kind of husband or father to be. That is a lesson a man must learn on his own. But I will tell you this—your name will live longer in the hands of your children than it will in any contract, any empire, any gallery.
Wealth is an inheritance. Legacy is a choice.
If you have chosen well, then you do not need this letter. If you have not—
Then it is not too late.
Bernard Maddox I."
Lex's fingers curled tightly around the page.
He had no wife. No child.
No legacy, except the one he was clawing back from the ruin of his past.
He let out a slow breath, setting the letter down carefully beside the others.
Jonathan had joked earlier—"A poetic bastard."
But this wasn't poetry. This was something sharper. Something that saw straight through him, across time, across futures that had never come to pass.
Lex dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose.
Then, without hesitation—he reached for the next letter.
Lex broke the final seal, unfolding the letter with slow precision.
The parchment felt heavier.
As if the weight of his great-grandfather's final words had been waiting all these years for him to read them.
"Lexington,
A man's greatest enemy is often the one he does not see.
My son never saw his. He married her instead.
She was a spy for her family, one that viewed us as a problem to be dealt with. And she did. Not with knives, but with whispers, with careful hands shaping a son to be weak.
My grandson—your uncle—was raised to kneel, not stand. I intervened before he could marry into that family, but all these years later, he still blames me for what could have been. He grieves a life I saved him from.
But what is a kingdom to a man who was never meant to rule? My son had no legacy to pass down. He was tested, again and again. And he failed.
Roger was never meant to be tested.
And yet, without trying—he passed.
I wonder what will happen now. But I will not live to see the answer.
You will.
Bernard Maddox I."
Lex stared at the letter, the ink settling into his mind like a weight.
Barnie's mother.
A spy. A plant. A quiet war waged not through markets, but through blood.
His great-grandfather had wondered how it would all end.
Now, he was about to find out.