James sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the worn wood floor, breathing deeply.His heart hammered in his chest, but not from fear. From awakening.
He could feel it — vividly, undeniably.Every memory. Every moment.From the day of his birth until the day of his death in 2025 — every conversation, every lesson, every heartbreak, every triumph — stored in perfect clarity. Audio, visual, emotional. All of it there, in stunning, terrifying detail.
Perfect memory.Not just photographic — total.
He could remember the layout of every city he'd visited, the taste of every meal, the stock charts of every major company, the rise and fall of fortunes. He remembered the moment Tesla hit critical mass, when Google spun into a trillion-dollar giant, when obscure startups became empires overnight.
With this, he could do more than start over.He could build an empire.
He could rule the future.
A soft knock broke his thoughts.
The door creaked open, and Charlotte Calloway, his mother, poked her head in."Are you still getting dressed? Hurry up, sweetheart. Breakfast is ready. We'll be late for Mass."
James blinked, momentarily disoriented, still adjusting to the surreal shift in reality."Yeah, Mom," he said, voice catching slightly. "I'll be right there."
As she disappeared down the hallway, he stood, catching sight of himself in the mirror again.Young. Fresh-faced. A second chance wearing the skin of his teenage self.
He threw on jeans and a plain shirt, brushed a hand through his unruly hair, and headed to the dining room.
The long table stretched before him, sunlight slanting through the wide windows. At the far end sat Thomas Calloway — newspaper in hand, coffee steaming in front of him, his posture rigid with the same silent authority James remembered all too well.
It had been over a decade since they had truly spoken before James' death.A decade of resentment, missed birthdays, angry silences.
Now here he was — whole again, impossibly real.
James slid into his seat, heart heavy, forcing himself to break the charged silence.
"Just so you know, Dad..." he began, voice tentative. "I'm heading to Stanford tomorrow. First day of college."
Thomas didn't look up from his paper. His reply was sharp, clipped.
"I know where you're going, James. But I still don't understand why you're choosing Stanford over Berkeley."
The paper rustled as he finally lowered it, his sharp gaze pinning James across the table. Disapproval already etched deep in his face.
James drew a breath, steadying himself. He had replayed this conversation hundreds of times in his head before.He wasn't that naive kid anymore.
"I told you," James said evenly. "I want Stanford. It's been my dream for years."
Thomas sat up straighter, his tone growing colder."Stanford? You're making a mistake. Berkeley is where our family belongs. I built my career there. Your brother. Your sister. It's tradition."
James leaned forward slightly, his voice tight but calm.
"But that's exactly why, Dad. I'm not here to live your life. I want to build my own."
Thomas' face hardened, his frustration mounting.
"This isn't just about you, James. It's about opportunity. Connections. The life we've worked for."
James felt the old anger rising — the feeling of being unseen, unheard, measured against standards he never agreed to.
"I'm not throwing any of that away," he said, voice firm. "But I'm not walking a path someone else paved just because it's easy."
Thomas' hands curled into fists against the table.
"You think you know better at eighteen? You think you understand what it takes to succeed?"
James stood now, meeting his father's gaze without flinching.
"I know what I want. And it's not living someone else's dream."
The air crackled with tension.
Before either could speak again, Charlotte swept into the room, setting plates of eggs and toast onto the table with practiced ease. She glanced between them, instantly sensing the storm brewing.
"Enough," she said firmly, a warmth underneath her authority. "Enough, both of you."
She laid a gentle hand on James' shoulder, another on Thomas'."You've said your piece. Now sit. Eat. You're both going to Mass, and you're going to behave. Understand?"
James sat down slowly. Thomas picked up his coffee with stiff fingers. Neither spoke, but the battle lines had been drawn.
The rest of breakfast passed in tense silence, broken only by the scrape of cutlery and the occasional clearing of a throat.
The Cathedral of St. Mary's rose like a stone sentinel against the bright morning sky, its towering spires and stained-glass windows glowing like jewels.
James stepped inside with his family, the cool hush of the church wrapping around them.The scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint echo of choir voices practicing somewhere deep within.
They filed into a pew near the front — his mother crossing herself reverently, his father bowing his head stiffly.
James watched it all with a strange detachment.He remembered these rituals. The stiffness of his tie. The way the sunlight filtered through the high windows. The solemn drone of the priest.
But now it felt different.He was different.
He closed his eyes as the organ swelled to life, letting the music wash over him.Memory after memory spun in his mind — some sacred, some bittersweet.
He thought of the empires he could build. The inventions he could accelerate. The world he could change.
And for the first time, he realized:He didn't have to follow anyone's path.Not Thomas'.Not anyone's.
He could build a kingdom from nothing — starting now.
After Mass, the family returned home, the silence between James and his father lingering like a shadow.
Charlotte immediately set to work preparing Sunday lunch, moving around the kitchen with efficient grace. The smell of roasting chicken and fresh bread soon filled the house, warm and comforting.
James slipped away, climbing the stairs two at a time, back to the sanctuary of his bedroom.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, heart racing.
This was it.
The possibilities stretched before him like an endless horizon.He didn't have to go to college. Not really.Not when he knew exactly how to ride the coming waves — tech booms, real estate surges, stock market crashes.
He could start small.Pick a few winning stocks.Build capital.
Or bigger.Buy properties when no one else saw the gold under the dirt.Launch businesses that would seem ahead of their time.
He could be free.Truly free.
James sat at his desk, staring at the blank notebook before him. Slowly, purposefully, he picked up a pen and began to write.
Not plans for college.Plans for his future.
This time, he would not play by anyone else's rules.This time, the world would remember the name James Calloway.