bChapter /bb228 /b

    bMARCUS’S /bbPOV /b

    bThe /bcrowd bat /bthe Midtown Business Terminal was finally thinning out, the polished marble floors echoing with the click of expensive bshoes /band the fading hum of polite conversation. I stood near the tinted ss wall overlooking the city, watching thest clusters bof /bbexecutives /bbdrift /baway toward the valet line. The skyline was awash with gold from thete afternoon sun, but I felt inone /iof its warmth.

    Thad just endured Adrian Westwood’s presence for the first time in years, and though I’d kept myposure in front of the cameras band /bcorporate vultures, my blood still simmered from that exchange. He had the same smug posture, the same measured tone- bthat /binsufferable air of someone who thought he was untouchable.

    “Mr. Beaumont,” a soft, professional voice called from behind me.

    I turned to see Evelynb, /bmy assistant of seven years, approaching with her tablet in one hand and a fresh folder in the other. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun, her tailored ck suit immacte as always. She nced at the valet line, then back at me.

    “Your car’s ready, sir. But I thought we might debrief before heading back to the office.”

    I nodded, stepping toward the quieter side of the lobby, away from the ears of curious onlookers. “Good thinking. Fassume you caught every word of that little reunion?”

    Evelyn’s lips twitched in a knowing smirk. “Every syble. I also noticed how he didn’t flinch when you brought up the Carter deal. He’s either more confident than he should be… or he’s hiding something.”

    E

    “Oh, he’s hiding something,” I said, lowering my voice. “Adrian has been hiding things his whole career. And if I have my way, he won’t be able to hide anything for much longer.”

    Evelyn tilted her head slightly, as though anticipating where this was going. “You want to move forward with the fabrication scandal?”

    I smiled, a slow, deliberate curl of my lips. “Not just yet. We’re going to build it carefully–something with teeth. When the timees, I want the scandal to be iso /iconvincing that even his most loyal shareholders will be calling for his resignation.”

    Evelyn opened the folder, revealing a set of preliminary research reports. “We’ve startedpiling connections between Westwood. Industries and some of their newer clients. There are at least three that could be framed as… ethically questionable partnerships, if spun the right way.”

    I scanned the pages briefly. “Good. Keep digging. I want supplier records, offshore banking whispers, anything that can be massaged into looking criminal. And for the love of God, make sure it can’t be traced back to us.”

    She nodded. “We can use an independent PR hitman. Someone who specializes in anonymous leaks to the media.”

    I chuckled under my breath. “I know just the person. Back when I was in London, there was a fixer named Russell Kane. Discreet. Ruthless. If anyone can turn dust into dynamite, it’s him.”

    Evelyn tapped something on her tablet. “I’ll reach out through the usual channels.”

    For a moment, I looked out toward the street, watching Adrian’s ck Bentley glide away from the curb. It was ridiculous how one m. still trigger the same fire in me after all these years. This wasn’t just business rivalry, it was personal.

    Id

    The truth was, Adrian and I had crossed paths long before the public knew our names. I’d been climbing bthe /bcorporatedderb, /bbhungry /bband /bunrelenting, when he swooped in and snatched the one opportunity I’d been grooming for years: the Whitestone mergerb. /bbIt /bwas bsupposed /bbto /bbe mine. I had cultivated the Whitestone board for months, aligning myself with their vision. Then Adrian arrivedb, /bbcharming /bbthem /bbwith /bbhis /bpolished grin and throwing around figures I couldn’t match at the time.

    bThat /bbdeal /bbhad /bbpropelled /bbhim /bbinto /bbthe /bbstratosphere/bb… /bband /bbleft /bme bwing /bbmy /bbway /bbback /bbfrom /bbthe /bbhumiliation/b. bI’d /bbsworn /bbthat /bbday /bI’d even bscore /bband /bbnow/bb, /bbyears /bbter/b, bI /bwas bfinally /bbin /bbthe /bperfect position bto /bbdo /bbit/b.

    b*/bbAdrian /bbthinks /bthis bcity /bstill belongs to him,” I muttered. “But he’s been away from the battlefield too long. He’s forgotten bthat /bin bNew /bbYork/bb. /bbloyalty /bis ba /bcurrency and it devalues fast.”

    Evelyn nced up from her notes. “What angle do you want to hit first? Client scandalb? /bFinancial irregrities? Or personal did?”

    “All of it,” I said tly. “We’ll start with the clients. Once the seed of doubt is nted, we’ll leak whispers about internal mismanagement. Then, when he’s scrambling to put out those fires, we’ll drop something more… intimate.”

    “Personal dirt, then?” she asked.

    “Oh yes,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “Every man has skeletons. And Adrian’s closet is about to burst open.”

    Evelyn’s fingers danced over her tablet. “We could also fabricate a whistleblowerint. That tends to get the press frothing.”

    I smiled again colder this time. “Perfect. Make sure ites from someone who’s impossible to verify but credible enough that it bforces /bbthe /bSEC to take a look.”

    For a few moments, we stood in silence, watching the city move beyond the ss. People were rushing to catch cabs, juggling coffee cups and briefcases, oblivious to the quiet war being plotted above their heads.

    “You know,” I said finally, “what I hate most about Adrian isn’t his money, or his so–called empire. It’s that he thinks he’s better than everyone else – better than me. He acts like his morals are untouched by greed, like he’s above the games we all y in this industry. That holier–than- thou fa?ade makes me sick.”

    Evelyn’s tone was clinical, but there was a spark of agreement in her eyes. “You want to bring him down, not just professionally… butpletely.”

    “Exactly,” I said. “I don’t want to just beat him in the market. I want to make his name toxic. I want him to watch his allies vanish, his reputation rot, hispany bleed until there’s nothing left but rubble.”

    Evelyn closed the folder and tucked it under her arm. “Then we’d better get started.”

    I straightened my jacket, feeling the familiar rush of anticipation that came before a calcted strike. “Oh, we will. And when it happens, I’ll be standing exactly where I am now… watching from above, while Adrian Westwood falls.”

    As we headed toward the exit, I felt the hatred inside me crystallize into something sharp, precise. This wasn’t going to be a quick battle no, I’d make it slow, deliberate, and merciless.

    Because for Marcus Beaumont, revenge was never just about winning.

    It was about making sure the other man never stood again.