Apologies for the late Chapter. Another Chapter coming soon...

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The fluorescent lights of the Aurelia General Hospital flickered, casting a sterile pallor over the waiting area. At 23:00, the silence of the private wing was broken by the frantic rush of a couple in their late fifties. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Jake stood as they approached. These were Carroll’s parents. Carroll, the girl who had been in the passenger seat during the crash, was currently unconscious in the room beside Aliya’s.

"Mr. and Mrs. Vance?" Jake asked, his voice low to respect the quiet of the ward.

The mother, her eyes red-rimmed and hands trembling, gripped her husband’s arm. "Where is she? The doctors said—"

"She’s stable," Jake interrupted gently, stepping toward them. "She’s resting in Room 5. The doctors are monitoring her closely, but she’s out of immediate danger."

The father, a man whose face was etched with the sudden aging only a parent’s terror can cause, looked at Jake with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "You’re the one who called? You’re the Rivers boy?"

"I am," Jake said, inclining his head. "I wanted to apologize to you both personally. This happened on my watch. I’ve already spoken to the hospital administration; I will be covering every cent of Carroll’s medical bills, and I’ve arranged for a specialist from the Aurelia Medical Institute to be on her case by morning. She will receive the absolute best care the Republic of Veyra can provide."

Mrs. Vance let out a shaky breath, her knees buckling slightly. Her husband caught her, his gaze softening as he looked at the exhausted young man in front of him.

"Thank you," the father whispered.

Jake nodded, stepped aside to let them pass into the room, and leaned his head against the cool wall. He didn’t move for a long time.

---

Near the nurse’s station, two young staff members were huddled over a tablet, their voices hushed but energized.

"Look at the jawline. It’s definitely him," one whispered, glancing toward the hallway where Jake stood. "The ’Aurelia Ghost.’ The video of him walking into the Gallery for the charity event has three million views already."

"He looks so much more intense in person," the second nurse replied, her face flushing as she peeked over the counter. "Did you see the R8 downstairs? And the way those security guys in suits follow him? He just inherited Golden Investments. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the Republic overnight."

A third nurse, older and with sharp, calculating eyes, leaned over the desk. She didn’t care about the viral clips or the romance. She saw a man whose family was in crisis and whose company was in transition. ’Golden Investments,’ she thought. ’The paparazzi would pay a year’s salary for a photo of the ’Ghost’ looking vulnerable in a hospital hallway.’

She walked into the breakroom, her hand already sliding into her pocket to find her phone.

---

The sun rose over Aurelia, casting long shadows across the glass towers of the financial district. Jake had spent the night in a hard plastic chair, refusing to leave until he was sure the girls were stable. At 06:00, he drove back to The Zenith.

He spent thirty minutes under a scalding shower, washing away the smell of antiseptic and the weight of the previous night. He emerged in a charcoal-grey suit, the fabric crisp and the fit perfect. He skipped breakfast, settled for a black coffee, and checked his reflection. The exhaustion was there, hidden deep in his eyes, but his expression was a mask of cold resolve.

By 07:50, the Audi pulled up to Apex Plaza, the headquarters of Golden Investments.

Inside the executive boardroom, the five CEOs of the subsidiaries were already gathered.

Mason Grant was busy pacing the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He looked like a man ready to start a fire. "Eight o’clock on a Monday morning. I had a merger call with Singapore that I had to move to a secure line in the car. If this boy thinks he can summon us like bellhops, he’s got another thing coming."

Jack Jackson sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, slowly turning a gold fountain pen between his fingers. He looked perfectly at ease, his expression unreadable. "Relax, Mason. You’re giving him the power by letting him get under your skin before he even walks through the door."

"Power?" Mason scoffed, slamming his hand on the table. "He has a name and a bank account he didn’t earn. That’s not power. That’s an inheritance. And inheritances can be bled dry."

"It’s really an insult," snapped Melissa Cooper, the 36-year-old Director of the Meridian Gallery, her arms crossed over her designer blazer. "I had an auction house meeting in Paris via Zoom. I had to cancel for this."

Cyprian Graves, the 45-year-old CEO of Meridian FaceUp, sat quietly, his eyes darting between the others. Beside him, Luis Henderson, the 47-year-old head of the Meridian Brewery, was unusually still. A fine sheen of sweat was visible on his upper lip despite the air conditioning.

08:00:00.

The heavy double doors retracted. Jake walked in, Alice a half-step behind him. He didn’t look at the luxury watches or the indignant expressions. He walked to the head of the table.

"Good morning," Jake said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room’s tension. He remained standing, his hands resting lightly on the mahogany.

Mason Grant didn’t sit. "Jake, we need to discuss the protocol of these—"

"Sit down, Mason," Jake said politely. He didn’t raise his voice, but the directness of it made Mason blink.

"I beg your pardon?" Mason’s face turned a shade of violet. "I’ve been the CEO of the Crown since you were in—"

"I said sit down," Jake repeated, finally fixing his gaze on Mason. The intensity in his eyes was like a physical weight. "This isn’t a debate. You’re interrupting the opening statement."

Mason hesitated, his mouth hanging open for a split second, before the sheer coldness of Jake’s stare forced him back into his seat.

Jack Jackson raised an eyebrow, a small, genuine smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. ’Genius or dead man,’ he thought. ’Definitely not a ghost.’

"I’m aware of your tenure," Jake said, clarifying where he and Mason stood. "But I own one hundred percent of Golden Investments. And Golden Investments owns seventy percent of Meridian Crown. That makes me the chair of this board and your boss, so watch how you speak to me."

Mason stared at him for a heartbeat, his face reddening, but he said nothing.

Jake sat. "Summaries, please. I want a concise report on the current standing of your sectors. Jack, we’ll start with you."

Jack Jackson nodded, his report smooth and professional, detailing high occupancy and rising tourism margins. Melissa Cooper followed with a brief on the Gallery’s upcoming seasonal showcase.

Jake listened, nodding occasionally, until he turned his gaze to Cyprian Graves.

"Cyprian," Jake said, leaning forward. "I was reviewing the R&D logs for FaceUp this morning. There’s a significant gap in the development of the new end-to-end encryption technology. It wasn’t in the quarterly filing. Where is the data sitting?"

Cyprian blinked, his posture stiffening. "Sir, that project is still in internal testing. It hasn’t been moved to the ledger because it’s technically incomplete."

"Incomplete, or missing?" Jake asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Because if proprietary encryption tech is being ’borrowed’ for private projects or leaked to third parties, that’s a terminal breach of contract. I don’t tolerate ghosts in my hardware, Cyprian. I suggest you find that data before the end of the day."

Cyprian stammered a response, but Jake wasn’t looking at him anymore.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luis Henderson of the Brewery twitch. The man’s hand gripped his pen so hard the plastic creaked. The reverse psychology had landed perfectly. By lighting a fire under FaceUp regarding ’missing tech,’ Jake had signaled to Henderson that he was looking for irregularities—and the Brewery’s recent ’lockdown’ was the biggest irregularity on the map.

Jake turned his attention to Henderson, the Brewery Director. "Henderson. Let’s talk about the ’weekend lockdown protocol’ at the Meridian Brewery."

Henderson paled. "Sir, it’s a standard safety measure. To prevent unauthorized—"

"I’m I unauthorized?" Jake snapped. He stood up took a tablet from Alice and slid it across the table. It stopped perfectly in front of Henderson. "Let me remind you that I am the authorization. That’s a log of the digital signatures that bypassed the Level 1 access card yesterday. Level 1 means uninhibited access and yet that wasn’t the case. Three signatures. Yours was the first. The other two belong to people who don’t work for any Meridian subsidiaries."

The room went colder. Even Mason Grant went still.

"Someone is denying me access to my brewery under the cover of a lockdown," Jake continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried more threat than a shout. "And since I own that building, the vats, and the ground you work on, that makes it a very personal problem for me."

"I expect full, detailed audits on my desk by five o’clock," Jake concluded, standing up. "And Luis? Make sure the Brewery’s digital security logs are included. I’d hate to find any ’encryption’ gaps in your loading docks."

Henderson’s face went pale. He couldn’t even manage a nod.

Jake looked around the table, meeting the eyes of every CEO.

"Since there are issues with other subsidiaries," Jake said. "From this moment forward, every subsidiary is under a 24-hour transparency mandate. Alice is the new point of contact for all logistics. If a single mark moves without her digital footprint, the resignation I mentioned in the email won’t be a request. It will be a legal filing."

"You can’t do that," Mason whispered, though the fire was gone from his voice. "The board—"

"I am the board, Mason. I own one hundred percent of the holding company. If you want to fight me, do it on the street. In this room, you work for me."

Jake finally sat back down, leaning back in the plush leather chair. He looked at Jack Jackson. "Jack. You’ve been quiet. Anything to add?"

Jack Jackson set his pen down and nodded slowly. "Only that I think the breakfast I missed was well worth the show, Mr. Rivers. I assume the Hotel is next for the ’audit’?"

"The Hotel is fine, Jack. For now," Jake said.

"That’s all," Jake said, turning to leave. "Alice will distribute the new transparency protocols."

As the other CEOs filed out, their previous arrogance replaced by a quiet, hurried urgency, Jake looked out at the Aurelia skyline. The boardroom was silent, the air still vibrating from the shift in power.

’I guess it’s time to hear Sterling’s response.’

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