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- Herausgeber: epubli
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
What remains when the world's most powerful man vanishes? No grave. No answers. Only smoke over the Atlantic. Three months after the Shadow Tycoon disappears, the world stirs again. Mateo, his closest companion, is lost in grief. But behind the silence, something moves. Systems realign. Power resurfaces. As if someone was still out there – watching. Waiting. "Mateo – In the Circle of Heirs" is the gripping first book in a new trilogy. A story of power, loss, legacy – and a love that defied death. Visceral, cinematic, unforgettable
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Table of Contents
Mateo in the circle of heirs - Volume I of III: The fall of the tycoon
🌑 I. MOURNING AND SILENCE
Chapter 1 - The mausoleum
Chapter 2 - Just shadows, right?
Chapter 3 - The world outside
Chapter 4 - The key
Chapter 5 - The last voice
Chapter 6 - The list
Chapter 7 - The first clue
Chapter 8 - Shadow Operation
Chapter 9 - No Triumph
Chapter 10 - Legacy by Fire
Chapter 11 - The Code Lives
Chapter 12 - The Name Elias
Chapter 13 - System Test
Chapter 14 - The inner test
Chapter 15 - The Shadow Access
Chapter 16 - Valen
Chapter 17 - Mirrors
Chapter 18 - The Return of the Three
Chapter 19 - Instance 3
Chapter 20 - Mateo loses access
Chapter 21 - Mausoleum (Return)
Chapter 22 - Valen is silent
Chapter 23 - The mirror room
Chapter 24 - Decision
Chapter 25 - The second list
Chapter 26 - The map
Chapter 27 - The old password
Chapter 28 - The movement
Chapter 29 - The touch
Chapter 30 - The circle closes
Imprint:
Reader and Book Club Information
Images were generated according to specifications using AI.
Some locations were described using AI.
FOREWORD
to the second volume of the system - Mateo in the circle of heirs
He had never been visible.And yet he had changed everything.
Markets, centers of power, governments -what many thought was a coincidence,was in fact the work of one man:Maximilian Veith.
They later just called him the tycoon.A myth.A shadow.A man who never spoke,but who controlled everything -until that day,when his plane disappeared over the Atlantic.
No body.No farewell.No obituary.
Just an echo.And a gap,so deep that even the world was shaken.
"Anyone who thinks I'm rich hasn't understood me. I am necessary."(*Maximilian Veith, in one of the last protocols - The Shadow Tycoon)
"I will die. Not because I have to - but because it's the only way to protect you."(from the encrypted message to Mateo, a few days before the crash)
"There was no government, no committee, no structure - there was only him. And when he disappeared, everything disappeared."(Secret UN report, quoted in the first book, chapter 17)
The Shadow Tycoon - the first book -was not a novel about power.It was an anatomy of control.Of loyalty.Of love.
Of a man,who believed that the greatest proof of closenesswas the invisible guard.One who disappeared -to free the only person he loved,free.
But this story -the story you now hold in your hands -is not his.Not anymore.
This is the story of Mateo.
The one,whom he did not choose -but loved.The only one,to whom he left everything -except for the truth.
Mateo in the circle of heirsis not a sequel in the classic sense.It is a transition.An ascent.A touchstone.
Because in a world without MaxMateo has to provethat he doesn't just manage,but leads.That he doesn't just grieve,but acts.
That he is not afraid of the shadows -because he has long since become one of them.
"He was my mentor.My opponent.My mirror.My home."(*Mateo, last page of The Shadow Tycoon)
Welcome back.The power has not disappeared.It's just changed its name.
And the world will feel it.
- A. T.
Mateo in the Circle of Heirs - Volume I
Chapter 1 - The mausoleum on the island
The island lay there like an answer to a question that had never been asked.Far out, south of the Azores, too small for maps, too big for chance.No harbor. No connection. No noise.
Max had given it to him for his thirtieth birthday.Not with a bow, not with glitter. But with a sequence of numbers, an access code and the words:"You'll need it before you realize it."
Mateo never understood the sentence. Until Max died.
Now he was here.For weeks.Alone.
The island was not a tropical cliché.It was a masterpiece of earth, stone and architecture.Five hectares of rock, terraces, forests, sheltered bays.But everything was shaped. Planned. Orchestrated.Not for recreation - but for control.For concentration. For contemplation.
The main building is enthroned on the northern tip - an ensemble of exposed concrete, glass and sandstone.Not ostentatious, but monumental.No gold inside, no glamor - just space, structure, light.
Large rooms, hardly any walls.Technology embedded everywhere - recessed monitors, silenced loudspeakers, artificial light symmetries.A workplace for a thinker.A retreat for a ruler.
The floors: bright, textured, with lines oriented towards the sun.The smell: a mixture of salt, leather and cold stone.Max had the house built as if it were an organism:Living, breathing, alert.
Mateo wandered through the rooms like a shadow.He entered rooms where they used to sit together -Evenings with open files, music from invisible loudspeakers, glasses of red wine in hand.
Max usually sat in the armchair with the high backrest.At an angle to the window, with a view of the sea."You always have to see what you can't influence," he had said.The armchair was still there. The backrest was smooth from years of use.The imprint of a life that no one had ever fully known.
Mateo stepped out onto the lowest terrace.In front of him: the infinity pool, framed by palm trees that swayed slowly in the wind.Behind it: Nothing but ocean.
They had sat here countless times.Sometimes they talked, most of the time they didn't.Max liked silence. Not because he was shy - but because he knew that silence is power."Silence forces others to think," he had once said.A phrase that now hung over the island like salt in the air.
Mateo was no longer swimming.Not since then.
The water was as smooth as glass - like a memory that didn't want to be touched.
The path up to the highest point of the island led through a half-overgrown stone path,lined with lavender, cypresses and old olive trees.Everything here had grown - but was never left to chance.
To the right of the path: a small greenhouse, automated, solar-powered.They used to grow mint, tomatoes and basil there - not out of necessity, but out of principle.not out of necessity, but out of principle."You have to create things that you can also eat," Max had said.The smile that flitted across his face was rarer than any stock he ever checked.
Now the door was closed.The plants lived on.Silently.Like everything on this island.
Then came the mausoleum.
It stood where the sky was clearest.Where the wind sang the sea the loudest.Where the island ended - and the thought of something eternal began.
The mausoleum was not a grave.It was a memory. A memorial. A space for what was missing.
Mateo had commissioned it two days after the news of the crash.He had seen no body. No recovery. No burial.Just one last message:"I'm not dead. I am necessary."
After that: silence.No access to the jet. No recording of the crash.Just smoke over the Atlantic and a system that abruptly fell silent.
The construction had taken weeks.A team of architects who never knew who they were building for.Materials delivered by overnight transport by anonymous companies.Everything ran through old Max channels - structures that Mateo now controlled completely.
The result was:A monolith of white limestone.Heavy. Sublime. Free of ornamentation.Windows facing the sea. A domed roof - through which light fell.Always at the same time. Always on the same spot on the wall.
The entrance was simple - a narrow door frame set into a sloping wall, half overgrown with wild vines.Rose bushes bloomed next to it. Not planned. Just grown.A sign, Mateo thought.
He entered the room.Barefoot.Like every time.
The floor was smooth, almost cool.The air smelled of stone and memory.
Inside: just a room.Nothing else.No sculpture. No altar. No shrine.
Just a wall.
And engraved on this wall was:
"Here rests what is left of my love."
Underneath:
"Act. And be hated if necessary." - Max
And in smaller, narrower handwriting, added by Mateo himself:
"In eternal love and solidarity.Your shadow and friend."
He sat down. Directly on the floor. No chair. No barrier.The beam of light fell through the ceiling, hit his back, traveled slowly across the room.
There was no music, no voice, no simulation.
But Max was everywhere.
In the light he had calculated.In the stone he had chosen.In the emptiness he had left behind.
They had shared everything.
Not just strategies, data, power.But life. Lines of sight. Nights without words.Max had taught him to be silent, to wait, to observe.He hadn't changed him - he had shaped him.
Matteo had not only grown into a pupil.But a second shadow.An heir.Not by blood. But by choice.
And now he was here.Alone.
With all knowledge. With all the power.With revenge behind him - and nothing in front of him.
🖼 On the left wall of the mausoleum: a recessed, almost invisible frame - without a photo, without glass. Just a recess. In it: a gold watch. Max's watch. The one he never took off. It had been found in the wreckage of the jet at the bottom of the sea.
Mateo looked at it.It was running.It was still running.Even without him.
Outside, the light was low now.
Mateo didn't leave the room immediately.He was still lying on the floor, propped up on his elbows, staring at the opening in the dome.The cone of light had disappeared.And with it everything that reminded him of warmth.
He closed his eyes.And saw him.
Max.
Sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water,a glass in his hand, a file next to him.He wasn't speaking - but you could tell he was thinking.You could tell by the way he was breathing. Slowly. Controlled.
He also saw him on the terrace.Late at night, cigarette in one hand, the other in his jacket pocket."You don't need anyone, Mateo. You just need conviction."
Or in the greenhouse, sleeves rolled up."This is growth, without a stock market."
And finally at the big table in the headquarters.Around him: heads of government, bankers, generals.They all listened to him.
But Max only spoke to Mateo.Only ever with him.
The island had not just been a gift.It was a stage.A shelter.A touchstone.
And a silent code.
Here they had been more than strategists.More than power.They were people.In the only form Max allowed: Silent. Controlled. True.
Mateo stood up.Slowly.His knees creaked. Not from age - but from the days that lay behind him.
He stepped outside.In front of him: the path, the terraces, the shadows of the palm trees.And the sound of the sea - incessant, indifferent, eternal.
He walked down the path.Every step: a memory.Every stone: testimony.Every gust of wind: a sentence that was never spoken.
At the bottom, he entered the study in the main house.
On the table: a terminal.Black. Resting.He didn't touch it.
Not yet.
His fingers glided over the glass.
