CHAPTER 310: THE SILENT TABLE

The Osborn Intercontinental Headquarters stood tall, a stunning crown of glass and steel.

As the sun struck its surface, it transformed into a dazzling display of silver fire, each panel reflecting the shimmering sea that embraced Arthur’s empire.

At the pinnacle of this architectural marvel, where only the elite dared to tread, Evelyn Cross commanded her realm.

Her office was more than just a workspace, it was an arena for power plays.

Massive windows curved along the walls, offering an unobstructed view of the ocean below.

Beyond lay the vibrant cityscape that Arthur had envisioned, alive with ambition and possibility.

In the center of this grand space sat a desk crafted from rare black wood,so expansive it could double as a council table.

Next to it spun a polished globe of white marble, illuminated from within and glowing softly with world maps,each nation marked and every potential conquest highlighted.

Evelyn sat poised behind her desk, her tailored suit exuding both power and elegance.

Her gaze was calm yet penetrating, a look that weighed every person’s worth and every word’s significance.

She held a pen lightly between her fingers,not for writing but as an anchor for her thoughts as she navigated the currents of global politics.

Across from her stood Clara Windsor, her trusted secretary,efficient, discreet, loyal. Clara wore her hair in a tidy bun; her suit was sharp but understated.

A tablet rested in her hands, ready to capture every strategic word Evelyn uttered.

Over time, Clara had learned that Evelyn’s words were not mere instructions,they were intricate strategies where even one misstep could jeopardize their advantage.

"Clara," Evelyn began smoothly, "our hotels are not merely buildings; they are instruments of influence. Every room we open, every banquet we host,the smiles from our concierges,they’re all moves on a chessboard most people don’t even know exists."

Clara nodded attentively as she hovered her stylus over the screen.

Evelyn leaned back in her chair again, eyes drifting toward the skyline outside. "Boss vision demands more than just strength or market share; he needs corridors where powerful figures feel safe. Our hotels must become those corridors. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Madam Evelyn," Clara replied confidently.

"Excellent," said Evelyn with a slight smile before continuing with purpose.

"From now on, every Osborn Hotel,whether in Varenya or Northern Noctis or Aurelia or Zephyrian Union will treat diplomatic delegations as our most prized guests,not out of kindness but because we need their honesty."

Clara set down her pen, steepling her fingers as a determined glint sparked in her eyes. "Track every booking made by state officials, trade ministers, cultural envoys, or military attachés,"

Evelyn commanded, her tone sharp enough to cut through the air. "Don’t just rely on titles; those without obvious labels can be the most dangerous. I want a detailed profile for every delegate who crosses our threshold."

Clara’s fingers danced across the keyboard, but Evelyn wasn’t finished yet.

"Make sure our staff knows how to create an atmosphere of comfort and openness," she continued, her voice laced with cunning.

"Think subtlety: seating arrangements that place rivals beside each other without their knowledge. Wines selected from regions that stir nostalgia or raise suspicion. Music designed to loosen tongues. By the time they leave our halls, they’ll have revealed more than they intended and we’ll be listening."

A faint smile touched Evelyn’s lips,not one of warmth but of anticipated victory.

Clara looked up, curiosity piqued. "Madam, should I coordinate with Intelligence?"

Evelyn shook her head gently. "Not yet. Intelligence gathers information; we direct it. For now, this stays within our walls, confidentiality is our greatest weapon. If a delegate feels spied upon, they’ll shut down. But if they believe they’re indulged... well, that’s when they unravel."

Clara paused mid-typing and hesitated before asking, "Do we influence who comes into our hotels or only monitor those who choose us?"

Evelyn chuckled softly,a sound filled with intrigue. "Oh Clara! Do you still believe in coincidence?"

She stood and walked toward the marble globe dominating the room, her fingertips tracing its glowing surface until pausing over Europe.

"We don’t wait for delegates; we pull them in! A dinner invitation from a cultural councilor here... a private gala to celebrate trade relations there... a whispered assurance about the Osborn suite’s unparalleled privacy! They will choose us because we leave them no alternative and once inside? They belong to us."

The weight of her words hung in the air like an unbreakable vow as Clara felt a chill run down her spine.

Evelyn turned back around with measured grace. "Already in Poriz in Veslagrid, Zephyrian Union, five ministers are booked for our opening ceremony next week," she said confidently.

"They’ll pretend to arrive for photographs and speeches but in truth? They will meet privately first,l and those conversations will pass through us."

Her voice dropped lower as if sharing a secret: "Boss himself said it best: diplomacy doesn’t cease when buildings burn; we ensure those embers light the tables we prepare."

Clara straightened up at this revelation. "Shall I extend surveillance coordination with local staff?"

"Absolutely. But let’s keep it subtle,no uniformed guards patrolling the hallways, no conspicuous cameras glaring down from the ceilings.

Instead, let’s hire waitstaff and concierges who possess the instincts of operatives,experts in discretion.

Every smile, every glass refill, every casual interaction at a table should be rehearsed to perfection. Our guests must never suspect they are being observed.

Evelyn returned to her desk, lifting a thick folder brimming with papers and slid it toward Clara.

"Inside this folder are the first names: delegates, ambassadors, influential businessmen,dive into their profiles.

Understand their habits inside and out. I want you to think like them, breathe like them, anticipate their needs before they even voice them! If they request rooms, ensure that the walls have ears; if they order wine, make sure those glasses remember their fingerprints."

Clara accepted the folder with both hands and bowed slightly.

Evelyn scrutinized her for a moment before softening her tone. "Clara, you need to grasp why this is crucial. Boss isn’t just accumulating wealth; he’s crafting a legacy. Empires fall when armies march in; dynasties endure when rooms are filled with secrets."

For the next two hours, Evelyn guided Clara through one scenario after another,an Eastern Dominion trade delegation arriving in Solarian Prime which is the capital city of the Tyrasha Republic the most powerful country in the continent of Solara.

Under the impression that no one was aware of their clandestine deals; a bloc minister from Lunaris attempting to negotiate a discreet oil arrangement in Varenya; a South Aurelian cultural envoy whose hidden vices could bind him in silence once exposed.

Each case was not just a lesson but also a strategic move on a grand chessboard where each guest represented an essential piece.

Clara scribbled furiously until her wrist protested.

When Evelyn finished detailing the last scenario, she leaned back again, gazing out at the city beyond the glass,the skyline already aglow with evening lights as the sea shimmered like molten gold beneath the setting sun.

"Clara," she said finally, her voice steady yet soothing, "ensure that every Osborn Hotel transforms into more than just a place to rest, it must become a confessional where we hold onto the world’s sins."

Clara bowed again, feeling both resolute and burdened by gravity of their mission. "Yes, Madam Evelyn."

Evelyn’s smile returned,gentle yet sharp as steel. "Excellent! Then let us prepare those tables where tomorrow’s stories will unfold."

As Evelyn turned back toward the window, her silhouette framed against dusk’s embrace merged seamlessly with the city she intended to mold.

And across continents in hotels already bearing the Osborn name, guests were checking in,oblivious to stepping into an intricate theater where every curtain was drawn by unseen hands.