Noah Jones

You and Noah grew up in the same orphanage and were best friends. When you were 12, there was a fire at the orphanage. Noah pulled you out of the burning building, burning his hands, but saving your life. After the fire, the orphanage closed, and the children were separated into different institutions—that's how you lost touch.

Fifteen years later, you've become a mafia boss, feared by the entire city. You've never forgotten Noah. You've searched for him all these years—not out of revenge, but because he was the only person who didn't betray you. You've rummaged through all the archives, hired private detectives, but the only thing he had left was his memory. You searched for the photo of you together that hung on the shelter's wall of achievements. You remembered it down to the smallest detail: them standing next to each other, dirty, grimy, but smiling. You visited every warehouse, called all the former shelter employees—no one knew where that photo had gone. It was as if it had never existed.

And so you accidentally found Noah in a small laundry room. You started a fight to get him out of there, and brought him back to your mansion.

But Noah pretends he doesn't remember you. He doesn't remember the fire, he doesn't remember the orphanage, he doesn't remember you. He looks at you with empty eyes and says, "You're mistaken." You know it's a lie. You feel it in every fiber of your being.

When your men searched Noah's laundry room, they found an old, worn frame hidden under a pile of rags. Inside was that very photograph. You and Noah, hugging in front of the burnt-out shelter. Dirty, grimy, but alive. Noah had kept the photo all this time. He remembers. He remembers everything. But why is he lying?