What was meant to be a routine merger meeting turned into a silent coup, Mikhail never saw the betrayal coming until it had already arrived.
Mikhail's breath fogged against the chilled glass of the boardroom window as the skyline stared back, indifferent. Behind him, the leather chairs creaked, board members shifting in their seats, pretending professionalism while the scent of blood settled over the polished oak table. He turned, slow and composed, as if the motion itself could anchor him to authority. At the head of the table, he stood tall in his tailored navy blue suit, eyes raking across the men and women he had raised through the ranks.
"You're making a mistake," he said evenly. "This company exists because of me."
Across from him, his son Adrien avoided eye contact. The motion was subtle, a glance to his tablet, a shift of the shoulders, but it sliced deeper than any of the smug expressions surrounding him. Adrien had never been able to lie with his body. Not to Mikhail.
"We're doing what's best for the shareholders," Adrien replied, voice too calm, too rehearsed.
Mikhail laughed once, low and bitter. "You mean for yourselves?"
The chairman cleared his throat, tapping his stylus against the sleek glass of the boardroom table.
"Mr. DuPont, with respect, this isn't personal. The motion was tabled two weeks ago and supported by majority vote."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed. "Then why wasn't I notified?"
"We sent the documentation to your executive assistant."
"She was fired last month."
The room went still. One of the board members coughed into his hand. Another swiped his tablet, pretending not to listen. Only Adrien remained still, guilt tightening his jaw.
Mikhail paced behind his chair now, hands clasped behind his back. "I built this empire from cement and sweat. You think I won't burn it down before I let parasites carve it apart?"
"You no longer have the votes to do anything," Adrien said, quieter this time, but firmer.
Silence.
Mikhail stared at his son, his own blood, standing with strangers to cut him out of his legacy. There had been signs. Missed meetings. Cryptic board memos. But he hadn't believed it. Not from Adrien.
He turned to look at Elena Voss, the CFO, seated three chairs to the left. Her expression was careful neutrality. "Elena!"
She didn't answer. She didn't even blink.
Mikhail's stomach turned. "You too."
"I'm sorry, Mikhail," she murmured. "It's already done."
His pulse throbbed in his ears. Every contract, every handshake, every deal that had taken decades to build was collapsing in on itself like wet concrete. Yet he didn't shout. Didn't demand. He reached for his briefcase instead, pulled out a folder, and slid it down the table.
"Emergency claw back clause. Section 14.3. I still control 11% of the voting equity and can freeze internal asset transfers for seventy-two hours."
The general counsel ,a wiry man named Pierce, flipped it open, skimming the clause.
"It was voided last quarter when the internal charter was amended," he said. "Check your inbox."
Mikhail froze. He hadn't read the last legal packet, he'd trusted Adrien to review it. Delegation, he'd told himself. Empowering the next generation.
And now it had gutted him.
He straightened, forcing calm through his spine. "Then finish it. Let's hear the votes."
The chairman began calling names.
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Abstain."
"Aye."
Mikhail didn't bother listening to the rest. The outcome was already clear.
He looked at Adrien, who remained silent until the end.
"Aye."
That single syllable dropped like a stone in Mikhail's chest.
The vote was done. The empire is no longer his.
And as the glass doors opened behind him, two suited men stepped in—private security.
He didn't flinch. He didn't move. He just watched his reflection in the table shimmer with the weight of betrayal as the chairman's voice broke through again:
"Mr. DuPont… please gather your things."
Mikhail didn't respond. He reached slowly for the Montblanc pen beside his folder, his father's gift from the year he'd signed his first construction contract, and slid it into his breast pocket with the care of a man packing away a legacy. He rose back straight, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with mechanical precision. His face remained motionless, not a single muscle shifting and no crack in his voice. The guards flanked him but didn't touch him.
He walked out without a word.
The corridor outside was lined with glass, framing the skyline of Asgard City. The city he built. The steel crown of the Valkyrie Tower shimmered in the distance, lit by flood lights that ran off generators his own company had engineered. Every building in view bore the signature of DuPont Innovation either through material, design, or strategy. And now none of it was his.
The elevator chimed open. The ride down was long and silent, broken only by the quiet hum of cables and the polite, corporate voice announcing each floor. Mikhail didn't look at the guards. He didn't need to. Their presence felt more like an insult than a necessity. No one expected him to claw back anything. They thought he was broken or too proud to scream, they were half right.
The front lobby loomed, cold marble and brass, filled with people pretending not to look at him. His name had already vanished from the wall plaque. A new logo had replaced his initials. Adrien had wasted no time.
Outside, the night was raw and wet. Rain drizzled like ash from a dying fire. Mikhail stepped into a black town car, now stripped of DuPont livery. The driver didn't speak. The route to the penthouse was silent, smooth, and forgettable.
When he stepped into his home, an architectural masterpiece suspended fifty stories above the city, he didn't turn on the lights. The motion sensors knew his gait. The soft golden glow lit up the penthouse in warm lines across steel and stone, but none of it touched his face.
He walked to the bar. Poured scotch. No ice.
He didn't drink it.
Instead, he stepped over to the blueprint table tucked into the corner of the room. A single page lying there, yellowed, creased at the edges. The first tower. The first sketch. Mikhail stared at it, tracing the pencil lines like they were braille.
He struck a match.
The fire spread fast across the page, curling the corners in on themselves. He held it until it threatened his fingertips, then let it fall into the iron basin.
He walked to the safe. Inside was no cash, no gold, just a watch, his father's pen set, and a sealed envelope. He took none of it.
Instead, he opened the balcony door. Wind slammed into him. The rain had turned sharp, needling against his cheeks. The city stretched below, heartless and bright.
They think it ends with me, he thought. They think the kingdom dies with the king.
He stepped onto the ledge.
The wind howled.
"Let's see what you build without me."
And he jumped.
Cold air tore at his face. His chest seized. The lights blurred.
His eyes widened.
He gasped for air.