Ridiculed into Wealth

Chapter 10: Six Months Previously : The Name in the Smoke

Rain lashed the glass walls of the Langston Tower conference room, blurring the skyline below. The air inside was stale with tension, expensive cologne, and the sourness of desperation.

Across from Ava, a board director from one of her subsidiary holdings was sweating through his collar. She had forgotten his name. He was supposed to be delivering quarterly projections.

Instead, he was unraveling.

“Montgomery Group is bleeding,” he said, fingers drumming nervously on the table. “They’ve lost two hedge partners in under six weeks, and Evermark’s holding off on renewals.”

Ava didn’t blink. She already knew.

She always knew before they did.

What interested her wasn’t the collapse. It was the pattern beneath it.

“And?” she prompted.

The director hesitated.

“We believe it’s connected to… an external actor.”

That got her attention.

She leaned forward slightly, the only movement she’d made in ten minutes.

“Who.”

The director swallowed, glancing at his tablet as if the name burned.

“Liam Hawthorne.”

Silence.

Ava tilted her head, scanning her memory. She knew every major player in the city. Every heir, every corporate vulture, every whisper of ambition wrapped in a silk tie.

But this name?

Nothing.

Which made it interesting.

“He’s young,” the man said quickly. “No pedigree. No institutional backers. We think he’s self-funded, but no one can trace the capital sources. He’s been circling Montgomery’s weak spots — real estate, logistics, now pharma.”

Ava took the tablet from him and scrolled through the files.

Her eyes narrowed as she scanned a quiet acquisition trail — surgical, fast, and completely under the radar. All registered under shell companies, most of which led back to a holding firm she’d never heard of.

Hawthorne Holdings.

How had this man — this ghost — slipped through the cracks?

“How do you take apart a legacy like Montgomery without a war chest?” she murmured.

No answer came.

Ava handed the tablet back.

“Find out where he came from. Family. Street. First paycheck. I want every email, every intern who ever served him coffee. I want to know what kind of man builds an empire in the shadows.”

She stood, eyes cold, smile slow.

“And more importantly—”

“I want to know what he’s coming for next.”

******

That was how she first learnt of this phantom, Liam Hawthorne. And this night after meeting him, as soon as she got home, she poured a whiskey, kicked off her heels, and stared at the flickering lights of Midtown.

She remembered one line from the file that hadn’t made sense until now:

"He doesn’t speak often. But when he does, people listen."

That was a rare kind of silence — not weakness, but command.

Ava had spent years surrounded by men who shouted to be heard.

But this one?

He made the city go quiet just by walking in.

And that was the night Liam Hawthorne became more than a name.

He became inevitable.

She recalled, the events that happened two weeks ago, before their meeting at the gala tonight.

They didn’t know she was watching.

The cameras were hers — part of a shared surveillance loop buried inside the private network of the Baines-Levitt Firm. A quiet merger was being negotiated there, one she’d let play out without intervention.

Until the name Hawthorne appeared on the docket.

Liam Hawthorne.

Hawthorne Holdings: Proposed Acquisition of Baines-Levitt Logistics, 51% stake, unleveraged cash.

Ava canceled her afternoon meetings.

She poured coffee, pulled up the boardroom feed, and leaned back as the room filled with suits and arrogance.

Liam walked in last.

No lawyers. No fanfare. Just him — jacket slung over one shoulder, black shirt, no tie. He looked like he didn’t care to impress anyone… and somehow dominated the room because of it.

Interesting, Ava thought.

The Baines-Levitt directors were older. Two wore smug expressions — the kind used on young men with ambition and no real leverage. The CFO launched into a five-minute speech about “long-standing partnerships” and “strategic hesitancy around minority control.”

Liam didn’t blink.

When the man finally stopped talking, Liam simply opened his briefcase and slid a file across the table.

“Here’s what I own,” he said. “Here’s what I’m buying.”

No bluster. No rebuttal. Just numbers.

Silence fell.

Ava leaned closer to the screen.

The file was brutal: Hawthorne Holdings had already locked down three of Baines-Levitt’s core distribution contracts. Quietly. Through third parties. And every future deal they’d forecasted for Q3 had been re-routed to Hawthorne subsidiaries.

“If you don’t sell,” Liam said flatly, “you bleed out by Christmas.”

The CEO shifted uncomfortably. One of the board members, a sharp woman in red, looked at Liam with new interest.

“And if we do?”

“You profit. And I keep you alive long enough to stay relevant.”

Ava smirked. Now that’s language I understand.

He wasn’t asking permission.

He was offering mercy.

Within twenty minutes, the deal was signed.

No one raised their voice. No one grandstanded. Liam stood, shook one hand, and walked out like he’d just bought gum at a corner store.

Ava closed the feed.

“You’re very good, Mr. Hawthorne,” she murmured, eyes glittering.

“But I’m better. Far better.”

She could never admit that someone was better than she. Because she believed no one was, no matter how good they were.

Still — she admired the efficiency. The calm. The terrifying precision.

He didn’t posture like a wolf. He didn’t bluff like a poker player.

He moved like a ghost with a scalpel.

And she’d always had a thing for monsters who knew how to wear suits.

Her interest was piqued and she was intrigued.

And now, two weeks later, Ava wore white satin and walked straight into the Reign Gala.

Because if Liam Hawthorne could bring the Montgomery empire to its knees without a whisper.

Then she needed to know what he might do with her at his side.