Damien Ross: Wrath of the Warlord Chairman

09: The Vow

The rain beat hard against the thick glass of the executive office. It felt heavy inside the top floor of NewYork Oil Gold. The air conditioner hummed softly, but the room felt frozen.

Sheraton Miguel sat behind her massive desk. Her eyes were fixed on Damien Ross. She had seen powerful men break.

She had witnessed billionaires weep when their stocks crashed. But the man standing before her, wearing a cheap, faded jacket, looked like a fortress that always stood tall.

Little wonder they called him the Martial Fortress.

"Boss," Sheraton said. Her voice was quiet, but it had the aura of a queen.

"Seven years ago, you were the youngest star of the military. You were the Martial Fortress. Then overnight, you were branded a traitor and a rapist. You lost your rank, freedom, and name."

She leaned forward, keeping her chin on her linked fingers.

"Now you are back. The Ocean family treated you like trash. Laura Ocean threw your ring in the dirt to run into the arms of James Smith. And yet, you stand here without a single drop of fear in your eyes. Tell me the truth. Who did this to you?"

Sheraton Miguel has been curious as to why Damien Ross was treated with disdain by the Oceans after his stint in prison.

Damien’s eyelids stood at a spot. His posture remained firm. Hands behind his back. He did not look like a man who had spent seven years in a dark prison.

His expression was like a god waiting for the right moment to strike.

"The Ocean family is just a pack of loud stray dogs," Damien said. His voice was calm and dangerous.

"They think they ruined my life. They even believe they stole my home and trapped my sister Sharon in a fake debt. But a stray dog only bites because someone throws it a bone."

Sheraton narrowed her eyes. "You think someone higher up controlled your trial?"

"I don't think, Ms. Miguel. I know," Damien replied with simple words, reeking of absolute certainty.

"Seven years ago, my unit was sent to the Buckingham sector," Damien continued, looking out at the street of Oakland. "It was supposed to be a standard extraction mission. But when we arrived, our communications were jammed from inside our own command center. Someone sold our entry codes. Whoever it was wanted my entire division wiped out."

He turned back to face Sheraton. The fury across his face made his eyes gleam with a deadly scorn.

"The Smith Family did not just get lucky with their sudden rise in corporate power seven years ago. They built their wealth on the blood of my fallen men. James Smith's father signed the paperwork that stripped me of my rank. And behind the Smiths sits a corrupt faction within Oakland's high military command."

BING!

Sheraton felt a chill run down her spine. The room energy felt heavier. She was the COO of a multi-trillion-dollar global enterprise, yet sitting across from Damien made her blood run hot with respect.

"They framed a war hero to steal your military assets and your tech clearance," Sheraton whispered. Her fists tightened on top of the desk. "They dragged your name through the mud so you could never stand up again."

"They tried," Damien scoffed and corrected softly. "They gave the Ocean family a small piece of the pie to keep my sister Sharon enslaved. They thought prison would break my spirit. They believed seven years of dark walls would turn the Martial Fortress into a quiet dog."

Damien took one step forward. The heavy wooden floorboards didn't make a single sound under his boots.

"They were wrong!”

“I did not spend seven years breaking. I spent seven years strategizing."

Sheraton stood up slowly. Her tall, elegant body build was ravishing to behold. She reached down into her private vault drawer and pulled out a gold keycard. She placed it on the edge of the desk.

"This keycard gives you unrestricted access to NewYork Oil Gold's main treasury," Sheraton declared. Her eyes brimmed with strong loyalty. "Trillions of dollars. Global logistics. Intelligence networks across three continents. It is all yours."

Damien looked at the gold card, then back at her. He didn't reach for it.

"I am taking a vow tonight, Sheraton," Damien said, calling her by her first name for the first time.

"I will not just clear my name. Clearing a name is what weak men do when they beg for mercy from the court. I am going to tear down the Smith Family root and stem. I will rip the fake medals off the corrupt generals in Oakland. And I will make Laura Ocean watch every single thing she traded away turn to ash."

Sheraton smiled. It was a cold, beautiful beam.

"Then NewYork Oil Gold is your shield, Warlord," she said clearly. "Your mother's wealth, power, and life. Everything she owned is backed behind your silent war. Tell me what you need first."

"I don't need Goddess’ money yet," Damien said softly. "I need an enemy who thinks he has already won."

A knock on the door.

The double doors of the executive suite slid open silently. Kane Miguel stepped into the room. Kane was a man, covered in military scars despite his present job as an investigator; he once had a life on the battlefield.

He was holding an encrypted communications tablet. He bowed deeply toward Damien, a sign of absolute military submission that no civilian had ever seen him give.

"Commander Ross," Kane reported in a low voice. "The Ocean family has just finished their private victory dinner with James Smith. James promised Laura that his family's logistics company will swallow the remaining local markets by the end of the month.”

“Also, they are laughing at your bodyguard position."

Damien didn't display anger or curse under his breath. A simple, cold corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Let them laugh," Damien mouthed. "Arrogant people are easy to kill because they never look at the floor before they step into a trap."

Damien reached into his inner pocket. He pulled out a small, metallic object wrapped in a piece of black cloth. He placed it directly into Kane's waiting palm.

Kane opened the cloth and saw a burnt, twisted piece of metal. It was a high-tier military dog tag. Half of the surface was melted by high-grade explosives, but a serial code was still visible near the bottom edge.

Kane's eyes widened in shock. His breath hitched in his throat. "This... this is from the Buckingham mission," Kane stammered, his fingers trembling slightly. "Commander... where did you get this?"

"I pulled it from the wreckage seven years ago before they threw me into Ironcage prison," Damien said, his voice dropping low into absolute deadliness. "That serial code doesn't belong to a soldier. It belongs to the personal security chief of the Smith Family."

Kane looked up, his jaw tight. "They were physically at the betrayal site."

"Yes," Damien said softly. "They thought the fire consumed everything. They assumed no one survived to hold the evidence. Take that tag to our underground laboratory. Trace the micro alloy signature. I want the names of every corrupt officer who signed off on that supply route by tomorrow morning."

"Understood, Commander!" Kane responded, standing at a firm attention.

Sheraton watched the exchange, her heart beating with dark excitement. The shadow war had officially begun. The Oceans thought Damien was a broke ex-con working a menial security job.

James Smith believed he was a king ruling Oakland.

They had no idea that the man standing in the dark office was holding the strike trigger to their entire world.

Damien turned his head slightly toward the wine bar. His reflection showed two cold, twisted eyes that promised merciless destruction.

"Tomorrow, I put on the bodyguard suit," Damien whispered while holding a scotch.

"And the Smith family will begin to bleed.”