The Dilemma

The view from Danny Orion’s penthouse in Manhattan was immaculate, as curated as everything else in his life. Snow swirled gently through the air, blanketing the city below in a pristine layer of white. The streets glittered with festive lights, and department store windows flaunted elaborate Christmas displays, drawing crowds that braved the cold to marvel at the season’s splendor. From this height, the city sparkled like a snow globe, perfect and contained.

He rarely spent time in this penthouse—one of a dozen multi-million dollar properties under his ownership—there was something about New York during Christmas that appealed to him. The beauty, the noise, the illusion of cheer. And yet, as he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, he felt nothing but the slow creep of dread.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses rose from the party below, a rhythmic hum of indulgence that seemed almost mechanical in its perfection. Danny leaned back in his leather chair, as he sipped from a crystal tumbler, the amber liquid warming his throat but doing nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

His gaze drifted to the manila folder on his desk, its contents spread out across the polished wood desk beneath. The words COPD—Stage 4, Gold Level Classification stared back at him like a challenge.

His eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where a lavish Christmas tree stood, its gold and silver ornaments gleaming under the soft lights. He hadn’t decorated it himself—naturally, a team had been hired to create the perfect aesthetic. “Tasteful and timeless,” he’d said, and they’d delivered. It was beautiful, but as hollow as he felt.

A burst of laughter from below made him smirk, his lips curling into the boyish grin that had graced magazine covers and late-night talk shows. He imagined his guests raising glasses in his honor, toasting the man who had turned a banking app: Orion Banking, into a global empire, who had reshaped industries and one day would make even space exploration trendy again. They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t need to.

The soft chime of the elevator broke through his thoughts. Bailey Jackson stepped into the room, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She carried a tablet under one arm, her tailored coat pristine and her expression as composed as ever.

“Your guests are enjoying themselves,” she said, her tone neutral. “The foie gras is a hit.”

Danny grinned, spinning his chair toward her. “Of course it is. When have I ever delivered anything less than the best?”

Bailey didn’t respond, her eyes flicking to the folder on the desk. “I take it you’ve read the report.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his grin slipping into something colder. “I read it. And I decided it’s bullshit.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Danny rose from his chair and crossed to the window, his reflection faint against the city lights. He spread his arms theatrically, his voice taking on the enthusiastic, almost childlike energy that had endeared him to millions.

“Look at this, Bailey. The greatest city in the world. And me, right here at the top of it.” He turned, his smile wide yet hollow. “They call me unstoppable. A visionary. The man who sees the future before it happens.”

He let the words hang in the air before his smile dropped, his voice lowering. “Then I get a piece of paper telling me I’ve got less than four years to live. Less than four years before this”—he gestured vaguely at his chest—“takes everything.”

Bailey’s expression didn’t change, her silence was telling. Danny walked back to his desk, picking up the folder and tossing it carelessly onto the polished surface.

“I’ve solved every problem I’ve ever faced,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Every single one. This one isn’t any different.”

Bailey stepped forward, placing the tablet beside the folder. “The bioengineering team has made progress. The next phase of trials is ready to—”

“They’re too slow,” Danny interrupted, his voice cutting through hers. “I don’t have time to wait for their progress reports. I need results.”

He turned to her, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and desperation. “This isn’t just about medicine, Bailey. It’s about thinking bigger. Forget the labs and the trials. I want everything—every study, every myth, every ridiculous story that’s ever hinted at regeneration, immortality, the fountain of youth.”

Bailey’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’re talking about folklore.”

“I’m talking about answers,” Danny snapped. He stepped closer, his energy building like a live wire. “Do you know why I’ve won every time? Because I see opportunities where everyone else sees impossibilities. There’s always something people overlook, some solution they’re too scared or too stupid to chase. I don’t care if it’s buried in a thousand-year-old legend or a dusty research paper no one’s read in decades. If it can fix this, I’m going to find it.”

Bailey studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I’ll get started.”

Danny smiled again, that same charming, boyish grin. His eyes stayed cold. “That’s why I keep you around, Bailey. You always deliver.”

The muffled sounds of his party swelled once more, another round of cheers carrying through the walls. Danny turned back to the window, watching the snow swirl against the glass. Below, his guests reveled in the opulence he had provided, oblivious to the war raging inside their host.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. There had to be an answer. And if it wasn’t in the world of science, he would pull it from the shadows of legend himself.