The Jefferson Global Consortium Headquarters towered like a blade in the heart of Veloria's financial district. Built from obsidian steel and smart glass, the skyscraper practically sneered at the world below.
Inside, the power plays were sharper than the architecture.
Elsa Jefferson stood at the end of the 50th-floor boardroom, a giant LED wall behind her casting her shadow across the floor. Her eyes scanned the gathered executives — all suited sharks in their forties and fifties — as if she were assessing threats, not partners.
She'd called this emergency meeting at 9 AM.
Half of them arrived at 9:15.
"This is the second time our hedge unit in Sestova reported negative outflow," Elsa said, her voice cool but crisp. "I want names, numbers, and a fix before Friday. Or I'll assume we've grown too fat to feel the blade."
No one spoke.
Not until Elliot Jefferson, dressed immaculately in a navy suit and smugness, leaned back in his chair and smirked.
"Perhaps our new in-law has some insight?" he asked innocently. "After all, you did give him free access to the executive floors."
All eyes turned to Chess Golding, who sat at the corner of the room, legs crossed, sipping black tea like it was the only thing worth caring about in the room.
Chess looked up lazily.
"I prefer battles with a prize," he said. "And this isn't a war. Just a boardroom full of bloated egos hoping no one notices the leaks."
The silence was stunned.
Then came a single chuckle—from Elsa.
Elliot bristled. "This isn't your dojo, Golding."
Chess didn't flinch. "Correct. If it were, you'd have tapped out minutes ago."
A few younger execs stifled laughter. Elsa let the moment hang, then stepped in.
"Enough. This isn't about who's dating who—"
"We're married," Chess corrected, calmly.
Elsa paused… then pressed forward. "—It's about saving this company from internal decay."
Elliot forced a smile. "Of course, cousin. I'll make sure the hedge division submits their reports by EOD."
He didn't mean a word of it.
Later that evening, Elsa leaned against the glass railing on her penthouse balcony, arms crossed, watching the lights of Veloria shimmer like a sea of secrets.
Chess walked out behind her, hands in his pockets, barefoot as usual.
"They hate you," she said.
"They fear me," he corrected.
Elsa gave him a look. "You sure it's not your sarcasm?"
"I was gentle today," he replied, with mock offense.
She smirked in spite of herself.
"Why are you really here?" she asked after a pause. "This arrangement was my grandfather's idea. You could've said no."
"I could've," Chess said, stepping beside her. "But I didn't."
She glanced sideways at him. "That's not an answer."
"I don't owe you one," he said quietly, "but I'll tell you this—your family isn't just bleeding money. They're bleeding trust. Power. Position. And someone's moving in to kill what's left."
Elsa stiffened.
"You know something?"
Chess took a long breath. "Not yet. But I feel it. There's a darkness crawling around this city. Around your family."
Elsa turned to him, fully. "If you're lying…"
He met her gaze. Unshaken. Unblinking.
"I don't lie. I let people hang themselves with their own."
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit lounge across the city, a man with a scar under his left eye scrolled through a dossier marked: "Chess Golding – UNKNOWN."
He dropped the file on the table, lit a cigarette, and smiled to himself.
"So… the dragon finally descends," he whispered. "And no one knows but me."