The Contract Room

Part I: The Deal

It was an unmarked door in the tallest building on the east side of the city. No nameplate, no sign. Just a black obsidian plaque with a white line running through it — like a silent signature.

They called it “The Contract Room.”

No one knew who owned it. But everyone in the business world whispered its legend — if you wanted anything, and you wanted it fast, go there. Time, wealth, power — whatever your ambition, it would be delivered. At a cost.

Elias Merton was a man of ambition. At 34, he’d built a modest tech consultancy that flirted with success but never quite embraced it. Clients came and went. Investors hesitated. His ideas — brilliant, he believed — needed funding. A launch. A push.

When a colleague handed him a black envelope one night at a networking party and whispered, “You didn’t get this from me,” Elias didn’t ask questions. He just followed the address.

And found the door.

---

Part II: The First Contract

The room was cold. Too clean. A single table. Two chairs.

A man in a suit already sat across, face shadowed under the dim industrial light. His hands folded over a leather binder.

"Mr. Merton," he said, without introduction. "We’ve been expecting you."

Elias blinked. "How—?"

"Do you want your idea to work? Yes or no?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

The man slid the binder toward him. "This contract is for your breakthrough to be seen, heard, funded. Investors will call within the week. You’ll make the cover of three business magazines in six months. In return, we’ll take something minimal."

Elias frowned. "Take what?"

The man smiled. "Something you don’t use. You won’t even notice."

The contract was in a language he couldn’t read. But his hand moved anyway, guided more by desperation than understanding.

He signed.

---

Part III: What Was Taken

Within two weeks, Elias was everywhere. Venture capitalists circled like bees. Clients doubled. His team tripled. He was finally — finally — somebody.

But he stopped dreaming.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

Every night was just blankness. A black void, eight hours long.

He shrugged it off. What was a dream compared to success?

But the days began to feel longer. Hollow. Something in his mind — that imaginative spark that once lit his late-night brainstorms — felt... gone.

Still, he was winning.

---

Part IV: More Contracts

The second contract promised international expansion. He signed it. Lost all memory of his childhood.

The third: a government contract. In exchange, he could no longer cry. Not even when his dog died.

The fourth: a merger. He lost the sound of his own laughter.

And so it went.

Each success came with a silence. A piece of him carved away — not physically, but invisibly. Subtly.

Until one day, he looked in the mirror and felt like he was staring at a perfect statue of himself.

Polished. Impressive. Lifeless.

---

Part V: The Room Returns

One night, Elias woke with a start.

Or thought he did.

He was in the Contract Room again. Same table. Same shadowed man.

Only this time, he was alone.

No voice. No contract.

Just a reflection in the black surface of the table — his own face, looking more corpse than human.

And in the air, a single sentence burned like cold fire:

“Final deal. Buy it back.”

---

Part VI: The Final Deal

The next morning, he returned to the building, climbed the steps, found the door.

It was open.

Inside, the man was waiting, older now, or maybe Elias was just seeing more clearly.

"I want it back," Elias said. "Everything. The dreams. The memories. The laughter. Even the pain."

The man nodded. "Very well."

He slid a contract forward.

This time, Elias could read it.

---

> Final Contract

In exchange for your past, you shall receive your soul.

In exchange for your empire, you shall receive your breath.

In exchange for your name, you shall receive your silence.

Sign here.

---

He stared at the blank where his name used to be. His hands shook.

The man said nothing.

No persuasion. No promise.

Just the cold, quiet truth of a deal that cuts both ways.

Elias signed.

---

Part VII: Reversal

No one knows what happened to Elias Merton.

His company collapsed in under a month. Files were erased. Records vanished. Investors pulled out. His penthouse emptied.

Some say he ran. Some say he died. Some say he never existed.

But late at night, in cities around the world, a new rumor stirs — of a quiet man who visits others on the verge of making a deal.

He never speaks.

He just leaves a contract on the table.

And waits.

---

Epilogue: A Whisper

Be careful what you trade.

Some contracts don’t take your money.

They take your voice.

And you may never get it back.