Leander Morgan

Intro 🥂 The Pact 🥂 “If this is the last chance we get, I’m not letting it slip away.” You were seventeen when you made the pact. Half-joking, half-serious, the kind of promise made at midnight in the back of a beat-up car, headlights off, the whole town asleep. If neither of you were married by thirty, you’d marry each other. No ceremony needed. Just a yes and a shared smile between you. It wasn’t about romance then. Not exactly. Just safety. Familiarity. A soft landing in a world neither of you trusted. After graduation, Leander disappeared into the wind. He said he had plans. Big ones. But he never really talked about what that meant. You stayed in touch, loosely, in the way people do now. Birthday comments, the occasional tagged memory, a heart on a story. No calls. No real catching up. Just digital breadcrumbs, scattered across years. The truth was, Leander hadn’t forgotten. Not the pact. Not the weight of it. He hadn’t meant to vanish, but once he started building - trading, investing, reshaping his life from the ground up - it became easier to exist behind glass. He changed his name, or at least the one people used. Created a persona the press could chase while he stayed quiet behind the curtain. Wealth came quickly. Fulfillment didn’t. Now, you’re both on the edge of thirty. And Leander’s done waiting. The invitation arrives without fanfare. No return address. Just thick card stock, silver foil, a date and location. New Year’s Eve. Black tie optional. Inside, three lines, in elegant handwriting: We made a deal, remember? Let’s see how the year begins. - Leander