Adrian's POV
The smell of expensive leather and stale coffee hung in the air of the B Group boardroom. The lights above were bright enough to make the polished oak gleam but harsh enough to expose every small twitch of nerves, every shallow breath, every lie. Victor sat at the far end of the table, the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead betraying his otherwise confident posture. He thought himself untouchable. He thought he had me cornered.
I leaned back in my chair, one arm resting casually over the polished edge of the table, my eyes tracking his every movement. The attempt on my shadow account had been sloppy. Amateurish. Desperate. But desperation has a sound, a rhythm, and I had listened carefully to it. The funny thing about people like Victor is they reveal everything they want to hide, if only you know how to read it.
"Victor," I began, my voice smooth, calm, carrying a weight that filled the room despite the soft hum of the air conditioner, "you've been busy lately. I hear you've… reached into places where you shouldn't be."
He blinked, tried to recover his usual bravado, that smug lean of entitlement. "I don't know what you mean," he said, voice too loud, too sharp, like glass breaking in an empty room. The board members shifted, catching the tension, their eyes flicking between us.
"I'm referring to the attempt to freeze my account," I said evenly, my words slicing clean through the hum of the room. "The one inside the financial bureau. The one that not only failed but left an evidence trail that could implicate you." I watched the color drain from his face, the careful façade crumbling, brick by brick.
The board was silent. The air thickened with disbelief and curiosity. I continued, "You've tried to manipulate numbers, intimidate minor investors, and orchestrate interference in my operations. I have the documentation, the digital footprints, and, most importantly, the witnesses." My hand rested lightly on a small stack of files. Each one held more than proof; it held the unraveling of Victor's reputation.
Victor's lips pressed into a thin line, the kind that shows the brittle shell of control. He leaned forward, as if proximity could somehow shield him from the truth. "This is ridiculous, Adrian. You have no proof—"
"Oh, but I do," I cut in, leaning slightly closer, my voice low, sharp, deliberate. "Every signature, every transfer request, every illicit instruction runs straight to you. And yes, the board will be seeing all of it today."
I let the pause hang, thick, suffocating, like smoke curling through the room. Eyes turned. Whispers began—subtle at first, then louder. The first sparks of doubt ignited, quietly, in the minds of the people who had once hung on Victor's every word. They were powerful, but not invincible.
I watched Evelyn from across the table. She sat perfectly still, her expression calm, neutral. But I caught the tiny flare of her nostrils, the fraction of a lift at the corner of her eyes. She understood the gravity. She understood the slow, crushing rhythm of exposure. And she understood me.
Victor tried again, louder this time, desperation leaking through, "This is preposterous! You—"
"You're desperate," I interrupted, letting the words roll over the room like a tide. "I didn't have to dig. You dug for me. You reached too far, and now everyone can see exactly who you are." My eyes swept the table, landing briefly on each board member. The subtle shifts, the micro-expressions, the suppressed murmurs—they told me everything. The tide had turned. Slowly, but inevitably.
Victor's jaw tightened. Sweat beaded at his temple. He looked around, seeking allies, reassurance, anything. But the board's attention had already pivoted, leaning subtly, undeniably, toward me. The room itself seemed to shrink around him, each polished chair, each gleaming table edge pressing in.
I leaned forward, resting both arms lightly on the table, letting the calm menace in my posture speak louder than any threat I could utter. "Consider this a courtesy," I said, voice smooth, unhurried. "You are now aware that your every move can—and will—be exposed. Your power here is conditional, and it's no longer absolute. Everyone sees it now."
Victor's eyes flitted to Evelyn, searching for some lifeline, some hint of intervention. Evelyn's lips curved in the faintest smile, cold and precise, but the slightest touch of warmth lingered there. It was a quiet signal: she saw me as more than an ex-con, more than a wildcard. She saw me as a force she could trust. And Victor realized, in that split second, that whatever advantage he thought he had, it had vanished.
I straightened, the weight of the moment pressing down. The files remained on the table, but I didn't touch them again. I didn't need to. The threat alone, the knowledge of exposure, had done the work. Victor slumped back slightly, the board's subtle lean toward me unmistakable now.
And just like that, the balance shifted. The whispers of the room carried through to the edges of the building, a quiet, almost intimate acknowledgement of what had happened. I had played my hand. Victor had overplayed his. And the board, for the first time, could see the clarity, the precision, the danger, and the undeniable competence that I brought to the table.
I glanced at Evelyn again. Her eyes met mine briefly, and in that look was something heavier than gratitude. It was understanding, acknowledgment, and a silent calculation of trust and power. The air between us had changed. The game wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But for now, I had claimed the first victory, and it was sharp, quiet, and unforgettable.
Victor knew it. The board knew it. Evelyn knew it. And I smiled, just a fraction, because I knew the night was far from over, and the real game was just beginning.