The boardroom of Jefferson Global was colder than usual.
Elsa Jefferson sat at the head of the table, poised like royalty at war, surrounded by executives who pretended they weren't sweating bullets. The air was taut with expectation, as if the windows themselves were holding their breath.
Today wasn't about strategy.
It was about dominance.
And Elsa? She'd come to test every one of them.
🧠Power Games
Milo Varn stood by the glass wall, his reflection overlapping with the skyline. His voice was calm, slow—like a blade sheathed in velvet.
"The restructuring of Division 7 will begin by next quarter. We'll cut 30% of redundant assets, relocate top engineers to Velmora Hub, and assign digital clearance to tier-three project leads."
The room nodded. No one objected.
Except Elsa.
She leaned back in her chair, laced her fingers, and smiled coldly.
"Funny. That sounds like a decision I should've signed off on."
Milo met her gaze, unfazed. "It was a recommendation from the emergency committee after your two-week leave."
"A leave I took to bury the man who built this empire," she said, softly but clearly.
The room went silent.
She looked around.
"Let me remind you all. My name is on the legacy. Not yours. Not Milo's. Not the shadows hiding behind his smile."
Milo's smile didn't falter.
"Then perhaps you'll enjoy the next recommendation, Ms. Jefferson."
🧾 The Checkmate that Wasn't
He slid a folder across the table. Elsa opened it. Her eyes flicked over the words:
Transfer of Oversight: Helix Division – Milo Varn (Interim CEO, Pending Final Vote)
Her breath didn't hitch.
But her fingernails dug into her palm.
"You want to control Helix?" she asked, her tone neutral.
"Only until the board decides," he replied, sipping his coffee. "It's temporary. Like your grief."
Like your relevance, was the unspoken jab.
Elsa stood up, closed the folder slowly, and turned toward the window.
"Do you know what my grandfather used to say, Mr. Varn?"
"I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Never hand your enemies your silence. Let them hear your rage, then drown them in it."
🧬 The Test Begins
Later that day, Elsa entered a sub-office in Tower B — a non-descript room housing the company's most curious new hire: Kip Tagora, a cybersecurity savant with an attitude problem and a diet consisting of only instant noodles and conspiracy theories.
"Miss Jefferson," Kip said, pushing his glasses up. "You got that 'someone tried to kill me with politics' look again."
"Track everyone with access to Helix in the last 72 hours," she said. "I want names. Passwords. Timestamps. If someone coughed near the data, I want to know if it was mint or menthol."
"Oho. We're doing the secret war thing again? Let me put on my anime playlist."
He spun his chair around and got to work, while Elsa watched the digital ghosts line up one by one.
🧩 Meanwhile... in the Underground
Miles away, in the private lounge of the shadowy Aeris Club, Silas Kade raised a glass of aged Ryven whiskey and laughed with a group of CEOs.
But his laugh faded the moment a notification buzzed on his encrypted burner phone:
[Subject: Elsa Jefferson has re-accessed restricted Helix channels. Surveillance trigger active.]
Silas's jaw clenched.
He'd told Milo this wouldn't happen.
"She's slipping the leash."
Across the room, someone in the shadows whispered, "Maybe the leash was never there."
🎠The Comedy We Needed
Back in Tower B, Kip swiveled around dramatically in his chair, holding a printout like it was the Holy Grail.
"Bingo! Your exes are shady, but one of them's a whole Batman villain."
Elsa narrowed her eyes. "Which one?"
"Silas. Look at this. He's been rerouting internal funds to an AI project offsite, calling it 'Project Sovereign.' Sounds like a supervillain startup."
"What else?"
"He's partnered with someone whose encryption style is old-school. Like… samurai-era old-school. It's got weird martial art metaphors in the code."
Elsa froze.
"Send me everything. And Kip?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't tell anyone. Not even your favorite anime waifus."
"Too late, but understood."
🔥 Back at Chess' Den…
Chess Golding watched the entire exchange via a monitor that should not exist.
Lance brought him popcorn.
"She's poking the nest."
"Let her," Chess said calmly, rewinding Elsa's footage just to see her smirk again. "Soon, the nest will poke back."
"And you?"
Chess bit into the popcorn, his voice dry as ever:
"I'm just here for the fireworks."