As they led him out, Mark looked back at his desk. The journal was gone. In its place was a mirror. He saw his own reflection—older, tired, and trapped.
He wrote: I wish I had never entered that estate sale. I wish I was back to being a mid-level consultant with nothing to worry about. He closed his eyes, expecting to wake up in his tiny flat.
(Modern London, historical setting, or a specific city?) Cuidado con lo que deseas - Jeffrey Archer.epub
"It’s Spanish," the clerk muttered. "Belonged to a man who won the lottery and died the next day. Tragic." Mark laughed and bought it for five pounds.
The corner office came with Henderson’s hidden debts. Men in dark suits began calling Mark’s personal phone, demanding millions he didn't have. And Elena? Her love was suffocating. She began tracking his phone, showing up at his gym, and demanding marriage within a month. As they led him out, Mark looked back at his desk
Mark lived for the "deal." As a mid-level acquisitions and mergers consultant, he spent his days eyeing other people’s fortunes, waiting for his own. His tiny London flat was a gallery of expensive things he couldn't quite afford—a vintage Rolex, a silk rug, and a collection of rare books he never read.
Mark gasped. "But that wasn't me! I wasn't even in charge then!" He saw his own reflection—older, tired, and trapped
That night, half-drunk on cheap Scotch, he scribbled in the back of the book: I wish my boss, Mr. Henderson, would disappear so I could take his corner office.