Every major news network had cameras pointed at the Vaughn Industries press conference, broadcasting live across the city. The air buzzed with speculation—rumors of Javier Everhart’s so-called “collapse,” of illegal dealings, of hidden crimes waiting to be uncovered.It was all orchestrated. All loud. All desperate.Elias Vaughn took the stage first, his face carefully arranged into an expression of cold authority, though the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his nerves. Behind him stood his father, Richard, flanked by a handful of executives whose loyalties had begun to waver.“Ladies and gentlemen,” Elias began, his voice amplified through the hall. “We stand here today not as competitors, but as defenders of integrity. The recent actions of Everhart Group have raised serious ethical and financial concerns—”He paused dramatically, letting the cameras flash. “Mr. Javier Everhart has been manipulating markets, coercing smaller businesses, and consolidating illegal power under the g

The city never rested after Javier Everhart’s latest move. His quiet domination of the Continental Club became the headline across every major outlet — not just because of what he had done, but how he had done it.The footage leaked — the way Evelyn Kincaid’s face had turned pale, how Marcus Blackthorne’s smirk had collapsed, and how Adrian had sat there trembling, realizing too late that the celebration had taken place on Javier’s own property.But power had a scent — and it drew vultures.By the end of the week, a new name began to circulate among whispered conversations and encrypted channels: The Syndicate of Helios.A shadow consortium. Not corporate rivals this time — but power brokers, arms of old money and foreign investment, men and women who lived behind masks of respectability. They didn’t care about business or prestige. They cared about control.And Javier Everhart had disrupted the balance.It started subtly.His suppliers began pulling out of contracts without warning.

The storm outside Everhart Tower grew heavier as night fell. Thunder rolled through the city, echoing like the war drums of something inevitable. Inside, Javier stood at the window of his top-floor office, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey untouched.Below, the city pulsed with light — but to him, it looked more like a chessboard. Every skyscraper a piece, every shadow a move waiting to happen.Valeria entered quietly. She’d changed into a dark suit, her hair tied back, her expression sharp as steel. “We’ve confirmed it,” she said. “Crowe wasn’t bluffing. Helios and three of their satellite companies are mobilizing. They’ve pulled investors from our logistics chain, slashed the credit lines for Everhart Holdings’ subsidiaries, and are manipulating the press to paint you as unstable.”Javier didn’t turn. “Good.”“Good?” Valeria repeated, incredulous. “They’re choking your empire from the ground up, Javier!”Now he turned, slow and deliberate, his gaz

Screens across skyscrapers, cafés, and train stations flickered with Evelyn Kincaid’s face. Her crimson lips curved into the perfect imitation of control, but her eyes betrayed triumph that burned too bright—too desperate.“This morning,” Evelyn began, standing behind a podium draped in Helios’s golden insignia, “I come forward not as a businesswoman, but as a defender of truth. Javier Everhart—the so-called titan of industry—has built his empire not on innovation, but manipulation.”Her voice rang out clear and cold across every broadcast. “We have obtained documents proving Everhart Holdings acquired multiple corporations using falsified valuations and illegal offshore accounts. I have filed an official report with the National Trade Commission. Effective immediately, Everhart is under investi

The rain had stopped just before dusk. The streets gleamed under soft gold light, reflections rippling across the windows of Le Châtain, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city — a place whispered to refuse entry to anyone not dressed or recognized as part of the upper elite.Javier Everhart arrived without escort, dressed simply in a dark coat, his presence understated yet magnetic. He stepped through the revolving glass door, the scent of aged wine and truffle butter mingling with low jazz. He was here for one purpose — to buy a rare, vintage bottle rumored to be stored in their private cellar, a gift he’d promised for someone who once loved such things.But from the moment his shoes touched the marble floor, eyes turned toward him — assessing, uncertain, and soon… judgmental.The hostess, a tall woman with a perfectly polished smile, stepped forward. Her name tag gleamed — Celeste.“Good evening, sir,” she began in the sweet, rehearsed tone of practiced hospitality. “Do y