2026-01-15 05:48:36The man arrived with an accent and confidence. That was enough.
“This,”
Richard Hale announced, standing beside him, “is Dr. Adrian Volkov.”
Polite applause filled the boardroom. “International restructuring expert,”
Richard continued. “He’s flown in from Europe. Worked with multinational firms. Turnarounds. Recoveries. Success.”
Volkov nodded slightly, hands clasped behind his back, calm and assured. Richard smiled, triumphant. “He will get us back to where we belong.”
Relief spread through the room. Not belief, relief. People wanted something to hold onto. “We’re honored,”
the CFO said. Volkov inclined his head. “Let’s begin.”
An hour later, the screens were filled with charts, projections, and the same strategy they’d been running for months. Volkov studied them quietly.
Too quietly. Richard watched him closely. “Well?”
Volkov turned. “This plan is actually… solid.”
Richard’s smile widened instantly. “I said so.”
“Yes,”
Volkov continued, “the structure is sound. The assumptions are logical. Execution appears disciplined.”
A murmur of approval ran around the table. “So what’s happening?”
Richard asked. “Why the losses?”
Volkov smiled faintly. “Sometimes, good plans fail because of timing. Or pressure. Or fear.”
Richard nodded eagerly. “Exactly.”
“But don’t worry,”
Volkov added smoothly. “Now that I am here, things will be sorted. Give me a few weeks.”
Richard clapped once, loud and satisfied. “You see?”
he said to the room. “This is what expertise looks like.”
No one argued.
The meeting was dismissed early, rare, celebratory. People left lighter than they had in weeks. That afternoon, in a quiet café across the city, Ethan Blackwood stirred his coffee without drinking it. “You heard?”
a former colleague asked, leaning in. “Yes,”
Ethan replied calmly.
“They brought in some foreign expert. Big reputation.”
Ethan nodded. “I know.”
“He approved the plan,”
the colleague said. “Said it’s solid.”
Ethan’s spoon stopped.
“Did he change anything?” Ethan asked.
The man shook his head. “No. Same strategy.”
Ethan exhaled slowly, not frustrated, not angry. Certain.
“If he works with that same plan,”
Ethan said evenly, “he won’t last two weeks.”
The colleague frowned. “That bad?”
“The company will run down faster,”
Ethan replied. “Because now they’ll move with confidence in the wrong direction.”
The man swallowed. “Should we warn them?”
Ethan looked out the window at the traffic crawling below. “They’ve been warned,”
he said. Back at Hale Industries, Richard stood in his office, phone pressed to his ear. “Yes,”
he said proudly. “An expert. International.”
He smiled as he listened. “No, no, everything’s under control now.”
He ended the call and looked out at the skyline. “See?”
he muttered. “I know what I’m doing.”
Behind him, unnoticed, an assistant hovered at the door. “Sir,”
she said carefully, “one of the contributors called again.”
Richard waved her off. “Later.”
She hesitated. “They sounded… final.”
Richard’s smile faded for half a second. Then hardened.
“Everyone panics before success,”
he said. “That’s leadership.”
She nodded and left. Two weeks.
That was the timeline Ethan had given. And as the imported expert settled into his temporary office, confident and calm, the cracks beneath the company quietly widened, ready to swallow anyone still standing on pride alone.
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CHAPTER 13 — MEN AT THE BAR
Friday nights never changed.No matter how the week went, profit or loss, victory or humiliation, Richard Hale always ended his Fridays at the same bar. Same corner booth. Same low lights. Same seven men.They called themselves friends, but they were more like mirrors, men of power, ego, money, and influence. CEOs, investors, contractors, politicians-in-waiting. Men who believed the world bent because they leaned on it.The bar smelled of aged whiskey and polished wood. Jazz hummed softly in the background, just loud enough to drown out conscience.Richard arrived late. That alone drew attention. “Look who finally decided to join civilization,”one of them joked. Richard didn’t smile. He loosened his tie and dropped into the booth, signaling the bartender without a word. “Bad week?”another asked. Richard took the glass handed to him and swallowed deeply before answering. “Bad… realization,”he said. That caught their attention. They leaned in. Richard stared into his drink for a mome
CHAPTER 12 — THE WAITING ROOM OF POWER
The mood was different. That alone unsettled people. For the first time in years, laughter existed inside the walls of Hale Industries’ boardroom, not loud, not careless, but restrained, hopeful.Smiles appeared where fear once lived. Conversations flowed without whispers. People walked in lighter. Chairs were pulled back without hesitation. Coffee cups were filled without shaking hands.Some even joked quietly, careful not to tempt fate. Friday had arrived. And with it, Ethan. Or so they believed. Amara took her seat and looked around the room. She counted faces.Everyone was present, no sick excuses, no sudden errands. Even staff who rarely attended meetings had found reasons to be there.Hope had summoned them. Daniel adjusted his tie for the third time. He hadn’t slept much. The thought that he, of all people, had sparked this moment made his chest tight. “Do you think he’ll come?”someone whispered. “He said yes,”another replied. “People like him don’t break appointments.” Dani
CHAPTER 11 — THE SUMMONING
The meeting ended without resolution. That alone was unusual.Richard Hale stood slowly, straightened his jacket, and said, “Let’s end this meeting here. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning. I need to make some enquiries.” Nothing more.No explanations. No arguments. No insults. Just that. People exchanged looks as he walked out—measured steps, shoulders squared, face unreadable. The door closed behind him with a soft click, yet it sounded louder than any shout he had ever made.For the first time in years, Richard Hale had asked for time. That night, his office light stayed on longer than usual.He sat alone, files spread across his desk. Reports. Old emails. Projections he had once dismissed without reading past the first page.One name appeared again and again. Ethan Blackwood. Richard leaned back, fingers pressed together.He remembered the boy, quiet, observant, always writing things down. He remembered how easily Ethan had spoken in meetings, how confidently he had predicted outcom
CHAPTER 10 — THE NAME THAT REFUSED TO DIE
The room was silent. Not the awkward kind. The heavy kind.Richard Hale stood at the head of the table again, hands resting on the polished wood, eyes moving slowly from face to face. The words spoken in the last meeting still hung in the air like smoke that refused to clear. He exhaled.Then spoke. “Does anyone else,”he said calmly, “have anything to say?”No anger. No shouting. Just a question. People shifted in their seats. No one raised a hand. Richard nodded once, as if confirming what he already believed. “Good,”he said. “Then”A hand went up. Everyone turned.It was a woman. Mid-thirties. Calm eyes. One of the few senior staff who had survived years without being sacked, mostly because she spoke little. Richard paused. His eyes rested on her hand. She had never raised it before.“What is your name?”he asked. “Amara,”she replied softly. Richard gestured. “Speak.”She stood slowly, smoothing her jacket, gathering herself. “Sir,”she began, respectful but firm, “I don’t intend
CHAPTER 9 — THE LAST MEETING
The meeting room filled slowly that morning. No one rushed. No one joked. People took their seats like mourners attending a funeral they already knew the outcome of. Richard Hale arrived last. He didn’t carry files. Didn’t carry reports. Didn’t even carry anger. He carried finality.He stood at the head of the table, looked at the faces before him, some familiar, some already halfway gone, and cleared his throat. “I won’t waste your time,”he said calmly. “I think this will be our last meeting.”A ripple passed through the room. “This company,”Richard continued, “can no longer sustain itself. I have made up my mind.”He paused, then delivered it cleanly. “We are shutting down.”A sharp inhale. A stifled gasp. A chair scraping backward. No one spoke. Richard nodded, as if confirming a decision already stamped.“I will work with legal and finance to manage the closure. Severance will be discussed where possible.”Where possible. The words tasted cruel. He folded his hands. “That is al
CHAPTER 8 — THE ARGUMENT INSIDE HIS HEAD
The message reached him before he reached his office. Richard Hale stepped out of the elevator, phone pressed to his ear, his jaw tightening with every word.“…Six?”he repeated. “They didn’t resume?”A pause. “Yes, sir. No notice.”Richard stopped walking. Six workers. Gone. Not sick. Not late. Gone. “Terminate them,”he said flatly. “Effective immediately.”The voice on the other end hesitated. “Sir”“Did you hear me?”Richard snapped. “All six. Sack them.”“Yes, sir.”The call ended. Richard stood there for a moment, staring down the hallway. Desks were emptier than they used to be. Conversations stopped when he passed. Eyes dropped.Fear had replaced respect. He entered his office and shut the door harder than necessary. Six more. He loosened his tie and dropped into his chair, staring at the wall without seeing it.Eight months. That number mocked him now. His desk phone sat untouched. His laptop screen glowed with unread reports. didn’t open them.Instead, a voice echoed in his
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