The obsidian table gleamed beneath the soft amber lights, stretching from one end of the room to the other like a black river of wealth and secrecy. It was a table that had seen years of strategic decisions, power plays, and polished lies. Around it, figures in dark suits turned simultaneously toward the sound of the elevator doors sliding open. All eyes locked on Klaus. His presence seemed to warp the atmosphere. A subtle shift, but undeniable. Monroe, the once-smug board member, took an involuntary step backward. His pride bruised, the color had drained from his face as if he'd seen a ghost—or worse, a reckoning. Klaus adjusted his lapel with a deliberate, quiet elegance. Not rushed. Not hesitant. He exuded the kind of confidence only possessed by those who’d died once in the public eye and come back more dangerous. Then, with a voice as smooth as velvet but heavy with gravity, he spoke: “Good morning, gentlemen. Shall we begin?” He stepped forward with a measured stri

"We traced the transactions. Guess who those shells are tied to?” He tossed a folder toward Klaus. “You. Or rather—your offshore trust in Luxembourg. You bet on DHL’s failure. And then... bought your seat at this table.” A low gasp. Even Damian's face paled slightly. Klaus stood up slowly. Still calm. Unbothered. “You’ve certainly been busy, Mr. Henderson,” he said. “So has Mr. Monroe, I imagine.” Monroe shrugged. “Due diligence.” Klaus walked toward the center screen again. “Let’s break this apart, shall we?.” [Slide 1] A flowchart of shell companies appears on the screen. “These companies do exist,” Klaus said, highlighting the first. “But let me introduce you to the real controller of these entities—Arthur Dreschler, founder of Vanguard Vector Capital." Another click. A Zoomed photo of Dreschler and Henderson at a private gala. “He’s also your former business partner, isn’t he, Henderson? You co-founded a private hedge fund together in 2014.” Henderson’s eye

The Floor Manager, his face a mixture of surprise and sudden respect, quickly bowed when Klaus showed his identification as a co-owner of the Megabucks Casino. The moment the realization hit, he immediately adjusted his posture, clearing his throat before offering to accompany Klaus to the office above. The air felt thick with the shift in power, the pit boss no longer seeing Klaus as just a patron but someone whose name carried weight in the casino. It was a small shift that spoke volumes. Klaus, ever the composed figure, acknowledged the change with a nod but didn't let his expression betray the undercurrent of satisfaction he felt. As they neared the entrance to the office, Klaus noticed Isabella standing there, her figure bathed in the dim light from within. She was waiting for him. The floor manager, bowing to her with the same deference, didn’t hesitate to retreat, his gaze lingering briefly on the powerful, enigmatic presence of Isabella before disappearing down the hallway

Klaus felt a slight twinge of skepticism but kept his expression neutral. He didn’t trust her words, but it was difficult not to notice the softness in her tone, the subtle allure in her body language. She was being careful—too careful. It was all an act, and Klaus was a master of recognizing when someone was playing a game, even when they dressed it in sweetness. "I’d love to buy you a drink, Klaus," she continued, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability now. "I think we could talk, get to know each other better. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real conversation with someone who doesn’t have an agenda, you know? It’s been... so lonely." She sighed softly, as if the weight of loneliness was somehow too much to bear, though Klaus was well aware of how she wore it like a mask. He could sense the subtle shift in her approach, the way she dropped the pretense of high society, trying to pull him into her world of fragile sincerity. But Klaus wasn’t fooled. He had seen enough lies

But for now, she’d retreat. Regroup. Plot. Because no one made Allison Hunt feel small and got away with it. Not even Klaus Whitlock. The look in her eyes as she walked away was a quiet vow, a storm gathering at the edges of the night, promising this wasn’t over. --- Klaus watched her leave with a small, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Some people never learned. He tucked his hands into his pockets, remembering the phone he had "liberated" belonging to Allison, and the mysterious auction items that his system had made him buy. His mind shifted back to the more immediate concerns—Isabella. He went upstairs where Isabella was waiting for him, perched elegantly on a velvet settee like a queen in exile. The room they used for private meetings was awash with soft golden lighting, casting long shadows across the mahogany floors and marble-topped side tables. From here, the hum of the casino below was just a distant whisper, like a restless ocean under the