Forgiveness Isn't Free: James Davidson Returns

Chapter 8

The wheels of the Davidson Corp jet touched down in Berlin just after midnight.

James sat rigid in his seat, eyes fixed on the glowing city lights stretching like veins beneath him. His left side still throbbed faintly from the accident, but pain was a luxury he refused to indulge. Not anymore.

This trip was not about healing. It was about taking back everything that was stolen from him.

Word spread like wildfire across the European headquarters of Davidson Corporation.

“James Davidson himself is here. Not Liam.”

“I thought he’d still be recovering.” “No. He’s back.”

The tension was suffocating.

For months, the partners had dealt with Liam—efficient, steady, but cautious. Safe. But now, the storm had returned. The double doors slid open. James Davidson stepped inside. No fanfare. No assistants trailing behind him. Just a man in a sharp charcoal suit, every inch the predator who owned the room. His presence silenced the murmurs immediately. Every pair of eyes dropped, every breath halted.

James walked with the deliberate grace of a man who had survived being broken—and come back harder. He stopped at the head of the long, glossy table, removed his gloves, and buttoned his jacket slowly, deliberately. His voice cut through the room like a razor.

“Ladies and gentlemen, shall we begin?” No one dared respond.

A nervous executive from Hollenstein, a middle-aged man named Vogel, tried to smooth the tension.

“Mr. Davidson, it’s a surprise to see you here in person. Liam has been quite capable in—”

James cut him off without looking up.

“Liam is capable,” he said coldly. “But Liam doesn’t sit here. Liam doesn’t own this company. I do.” A chilling silence followed.

James tapped the pile of reports before him.

“Let’s talk numbers. Vogel, your last quarterly projections were off by twelve percent. That’s not a miscalculation—it’s a failure. Care to explain?” Vogel swallowed hard.

“Market volatility and resource delays, sir. We were caught off guard—” .

James slammed a hand on the table, making the glass tremble.

“Caught off guard? You pushed a half-baked product into the market. When it flopped, you doctored your reports to cover your tracks. That’s not management. That’s negligence. And it ends here.” The room froze. James’s gaze locked on Vogel’s, icy and unforgiving.

“Pack your things. You’re done.” Vogel’s face drained of color. He stumbled out without protest. James didn’t blink.

“This is Davidson Corporation. We don’t make excuses. We make results.”

"Liam make sure he clear his desk"

" Yes sir"

He shifted to the next item. “And to the rest of you—consider this a warning. I’ve been gone too long, and you took that as weakness. You allowed complacency to creep in. That will not happen again.”

The partners swallowed hard, realizing the man they once underestimated was now a force of nature—ruthless, sharp, and unrelenting. Hours passed, but James’s domination only grew. He tore apart flawed forecasts and rebuilt the fiscal roadmap with surgical precision. Every word, every gesture was a reminder: he was back. Outside the building, Liam caught up to him.

“You made quite the impression.” James adjusted his sunglasses, staring out at the sharp Berlin skyline.

“They got comfortable while I was gone. Mistake.” Liam hesitated.

“And Rose?” James’s jaw tightened. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

“She’s history. A ghost I refuse to haunt me any longer.” He slid into the waiting car, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the night.

James Davidson wasn’t just recovering.

He was reclaiming his empire. And from now on, no one — not partners, not traitors, not the woman who betrayed him — would dare to challenge the man who owned it all.

Later that night, James found himself seated at a corner table of Ravensbruck Reserve, a private restaurant hidden atop a boutique hotel in Berlin. No reservations were taken.

The space was quiet, walled off from the city below, steeped in candlelight and velvet shadows. Every guest here was invited—carefully, selectively.

He didn’t wait long.

“James,” a deep voice called from the entrance. Nico Reinhardt—CEO of a global security firm and one of the few men James respected enough to call a friend—strode in, removing his coat with a sharp motion. Tall, broad-shouldered, and German to the bone, Nico’s presence was commanding in a different way. Where James was razor-sharp and cold, Nico was solid and direct.

“You look like hell,” Nico said, sliding into the seat across from him. James raised a brow, sipping the scotch that had just been poured.

“You should see the other guy.” Nico grunted a short laugh.

“Word traveled fast. Davidson himself landed in Berlin. Fired Vogel on the spot. That poor bastard’s face turned gray, they said.”

James didn’t react. “He earned it.”

Nico leaned in slightly. “And the rest of them?”

“They forgot who I was,” James said coolly. “I reminded them.”

The waiter came and went in silence. Dishes were served in artful detail, but neither of them cared much for presentation.

The tension in James’s shoulders hadn’t softened, not even here. .

Nico studied him for a moment before speaking again. “You’re not just here for numbers. This trip—it’s personal.”

James’s jaw flexed. He didn’t deny it.

“She signed the divorce papers,” he said finally, voice low. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

Nico nodded slowly. “That hurts more than the crash, doesn’t it?” James didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

For a moment, the air between them settled. Not comfortable, but understood. “I buried myself and my company for her,” James said, swirling the drink

“And when she saw the crown slipping, she picked someone else to wear it,” Nico muttered.

James gave a dry chuckle. “Exactly.”

A silence passed between them. Then Nico leaned back. “You’re rebuilding.” James nodded.

“No more blind trust. No more waiting for loyalty to prove itself. From now on, I build with steel, not sentiment.”

Nico smirked. “You sound like the bastard I first met in London ten years ago.”

“That man had it right,” James said. Their eyes met.

“He was untouchable,” Nico agreed.

James set his glass down with precision, his gaze fixed ahead.

“And now he’s back.”