RISE OF THE MORTE CONGLOMERATE HEIR

Chapter 8

Tuesday morning, 9 AM, and Sable spun his chair away from his expensive desk, facing his personal assistant. 

"Merk, get my favorite coffee..." but with a twist, Sable added, "...just text Ice to get it from my car. The black big thermos, but it's my tumbler. Remember that? Of course he's there, in the parking lot, right?" 

Merk nodded instantly, his face a mask of efficient obedience but still obeys. Ten agonizing minutes later, Zander/Ice entered the office. He walked with a precise, muted stride, placing the heavy, black tumbler gently on Sable's polished glass table. 

Sable ignored the tumbler, his eyes fixed on the driver. "Hey Ice, when you get back in the parking lot. Order my favorite meal. Remember what you order last week from Merk's text? Order it again. Got it?"

It was a small, petty task designed purely to reinforce the hierarchy. But today, the new Zander Morte memory, still fragmented but aggressively active, provided a counter-move. 

Zander/Ice replied instantly, his voice slightly higher, the "Ice" persona’s nervous pitch. "Oh uh... Mother of Zander texted me that I don't need to uhm... go anywhere because some Property Specialist needs client viewing later... actually at 10, the attendant~"

 

Sable rose from his chair, abandoning his usual pacing. He walked around the table slowly, his face hardening into pure, dangerous contempt. 

Sable: "Really? Mother of Zander, texted you? How come you know that it's legitimate text from her?"

Ice was already shaking slightly, playing the terrified driver. "You want to see it?"

Sable slammed his hand flat on the desk, the sound echoing through the expansive office. "Don't insult me! I know you're making alibi because Morte family will not do that". He moved closer, towering over the driver. "Sir, I need to go back to the parking lot to start~"

"Why are you... stop that, ok?!" Sable snarled, the words hissing out. "You're a driver. An idiot. No one in Morte family will text you because no one cares!"

Merk instantly cutting through the aggression. "Boss, we have a meeting at 10 too.". 

Sable walked to where Merk was seated, checking the schedule on the wall screen. "Are you sure, Merk?"

Just as Sable turned his back, the massive, custom-designed mahogany door of the office swung open without a warning knock. Mrs. Cassandra Morte; the Mother of the Morte conglomerate clan, Zander's mother walked in, moving with the terrifying, silent authority of pure power. 

River followed behind her, Cassandra stopped a foot from Sable. She removed her expensive and luxurious glasses, not looking at him, but at the watch on his wrist. She reached out and snatched it off his arm with a single, practiced motion. 

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "Since when did you become..." She removed the multi-million-dollar watch, inspecting its flawless engineering with disdain, and continued her sentence. "...piteous?"

She dropped the watch. It hit the marble floor with a sharp clack. The watch survived, gleaming. But the floor, chipped by the diamond-like metal, bore the scratch. That is how expensive that watch is; the watch broke the floor. 

Zander/Ice, having witnessed the entire, terrifying power play, exited the office without a word, slipping away like a ghost. Merk and River exchanged the quickest of glances, a mixture of terror and relief. They were witnessing a high-stakes, internal Morte demolition. 

Sable stuttered, but maintained a facade of composure. "Why did you do that~"

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "Who are you, huh? Who are you in Morte?"

Sable: "I am... uhm... I am..."

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "You are pathetic. Answer me... you are?"

Sable was sweating badly now, a fine sheen of cold perspiration despite his fierce determination to remain still. He slightly shook, but in full composure, he uttered the only acceptable, subservient answer. 

Sable: "Your protégé, Madame."

Cassandra smirked, the expression colder than any insult. She sat down on Sable's chair, spinning slowly to face him. "Great, you... are... my protégé. You want me to call a true-blooded Morte? Huh? So he'll stand in front of you and punish you?"

Merk and River, still standing by the door, slightly widened their eyes. Their internal alarms blared. Is she talking about Zander Morte?  Their friend, the missing heir, was currently exiting the building with the face of an in-house driver. They discreetly looked at each other, acknowledging the massive, silent risk in the room. 

Merk faked his concern look toward Sable and discreetly signaled a tiny smile, which was code for: Answer her, now.

Sable: "Uhm... uh... Are you talking about?"

Cassandra stood up again, her motion immediate and predatory. She faced Sable fiercely, almost nose-to-nose, her breath a sharp scent of expensive perfume. She struck with the true blow. "Your father. You want me to call your father?"

Sable's face cracked. It was a mixture of relief that she didn't mean Zander. Cassandra threw her head back and laughed maniacally, the sound utterly devoid of warmth, before she sat back down on the chair.

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "Funny. If only you could see your face. So, you want me to~"

Sable: "No, uhm..."

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "Good, because your father... is the one who instructed me to teach you to become Zander."

Sable swallowed hard, visibly recoiling at the mention of the name. He truly hated Zander's name, not just because he envied the man, but because he was constantly measured against him. 

Merk and River took their chance. They excused themselves in unison, their escape swift and professional. "Excuse us, Madame."

Sable sat down heavily in front of his table, in the exact chair Merk usually occupied. "Madame, you don't need to text anyone especially~"

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "Who? The driver? The in-house driver? Why?"

Sable: "I was just joking and~"

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "Stop that. I know every full tank schedule of every van we use for model unit and site viewing for clients. Why not Merk? You and Merk could drive anywhere and everywhere. Why not hire a personal driver?"

Sable couldn't answer. He sat fiercely straight, chin out. 

Sable: "Why not? I'm a Morte too... I can use that car~"

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "See, it's a van for clients."

Mrs. Cassandra Morte stood up, now utterly bored by the pathetic spectacle. She pressed her palms flat against Sable's table, leaning forward until the polished surface creaked. "Boy, stop tripping Ice. If you insult him, you are more insulting yourself. Why? You are wasting your time to an in-house driver who earns $7.25 per hour? Huh?" She let out a small, quiet laugh, then smirked. 

Sable chin-upped, facing her, prepared for the next wave of humiliation. Instead of laughing, she delivered the final blow. 

Mrs. Cassandra Morte: "You want your father to know this? Huh? You are using gasoline budget of this project, personally."

Sable: "No."

Mrs. Cassandra Morte laughed maniacally while walking out of his office, the sound echoing off the walls like shattering glass. "You better listen, Sable. You are my protégé, you know that. You are not going to be Zander, or more than Zander if you keep using a small budget for your personal use."

Sable stood up, desperate to salvage some dignity. "Are you... are you sure you won't tell this to~"