THE WAR GOD'S RECKONING

Chapter 9

The moment Fiona slapped the contract on the table, the room changed.

Sneers vanished. Every cousin, aunt, and busybody lunged forward, jostling for a look.

Fingers scrambled across the pages, eyes darting from signature to company seal, desperate for proof it was fake.

Dan, her cousin with a face like a weasel and an ego to match, piped up, “This must be a forgery. No way Atlas signs with us. Look at the print, probably something from a business center. Atlas Consortium doesn’t even give meetings to bankrupt families.”

Another aunt snorted, “He’s right. If the ink isn’t even dry, it’s probably not worth the paper...”

A chorus of voices joined in, piling on.

“Maybe she found an old contract template..”

“They don’t just hand out deals like candy...”

“Who do you think you are, coming back here with some photocopy?”

Fiona tried to speak up, voice tight but proud, “Atlas doesn’t do fake contracts. You can call them...”

Dan cut her off with a sneer, “Shut up, Fiona. You’re always so desperate. Did you think this little stunt would get you back in the family? You’re still useless, no real connections, just lucky enough to find some fool to marry you.”

That stung, and the room buzzed with support and this boost his confidence.

Max, up until now the image of patience, finally straightened, bored eyes suddenly sharpening. His tone dropped coldly,

“You know, Dan,” he drawled, “it’s always the most irrelevant mouth in the room that does the loudest barking. Maybe try being useful once. Or just sit there and practice your next apology.”

The silence hit hard, nobody expected him to fire back cause Max of five years ago always takes whatever insult or criticism fired his way, so what changed?

Before they could recover from the shock , a sharp knock rattled the door.

Everyone froze.

A servant peeked out, eyes going wide, then stepped back quickly as a woman in an elegant suit strode in, Cynthia, the well-known Atlas Consortium representative. The room went still.

Suddenly the same aunts who had just been spitting venom snapped to attention, faces flipping to practiced smiles.

“Oh! Miss Cynthia, what an honor!” one cooed, smoothing her hair.

“We’re so privileged by your visit,” another gushed.

Cynthia barely acknowledged them. She looked straight at Fiona. “Fiona, correct?”

Fiona stepped forward. “Yes.”

Cynthia produced a folder, crisp and official, and placed it on the table. “This is the final copy. Please sign here. Everything else is complete on Atlas’s end. Welcome to the family.”

The Smiths gaped. Not only was the contract real, but to have Atlas’ representative come in person, this was power they’d never even tasted or even dream of tasting.

Aunt Sharon whispered, “It takes a week to process a single contract but this, what witchcraft did she use?”

Fiona reached for the pen, hand shaking a little and happy cause the family was seeing her worth again.

Dan suddenly lunged, grabbing at the document. “Hold on, I’m the company’s acting president now. I should be the one signing! Hand it over!”

The old man, Benjamin, entered right on cue, voice grave. “Dan is right. He is president. He should sign it for the family. It’s his duty. This is a Smith victory.”

Other elders nodded, voices rising in agreement, all scrambling to snatch credit and rewrite the history that had just happened in front of them.

It’s only right, the company needs a president’s signature, not some desperate housewife’s scrawl,” he declared, trying to sound businesslike and failing spectacularly.

“Exactly! This isn’t kitchen gossip, Fiona. It’s official business!” piped in Aunt Gladys, always the loudest voice in a room full of nonsense.

Uncle Theo adjusted his glasses, looking important. “Let’s be logical here. If it’s a fake, at least it’ll be Dan’s neck on the line, not the family’s precious little girl.”

“And if something goes wrong,” a cousin added, “it’s better a man takes the blame. That’s just how it’s done everywhere!”

“Men are born for the big decisions. Let the boys handle the real work!” someone else called, sending a ripple of self-satisfied laughter through the room.

Max’s patience snapped so hard it was a miracle he didn’t break the damn table.

He bit back the urge to launch Dan out the nearest window. This was a room full of idiots and they still managed to elect the dumbest one president.

But Fiona, sharp eyes catching the anger in him, pressed her hand to his arm and whispered, “Not now. Let them have their circus. It’s not worth the fight.”

Cynthia, baffled but professional, gave a slow blink and slid the pen to Dan.

He scribbled his name with the flourish of a man who’d just solved world hunger.

The minute Cynthia left, the whole family turned on the praise.

“Dan, you genius! You saved us!”

“That’s the future of the

“Atlas Consortium will respect us more now with a real man’s signature on it!”

Max watched them, arms folded, a savage smile twitching at his lips. In his head he was tearing them to shreds. Hypocrites. Give them a little power and they’ll sell their mothers for a pat on the back.

Fiona tried to keep her head up, but the way they celebrated Dan and dismissed her stung deeper than she wanted to admit. She glanced at Benjamin. “Grandfather, why did you let that happen? Why did you let Dan sign it when I brought it to the table?”

Benjamin barely looked at her, flicking his hand in dismissal. “Let it go. Dan’s president, so he signs. Besides, if anything goes wrong, it’s on him. That’s the way families work. Men take the risks and the glory, girls clean up the mess, just the way of the world.”

Max’s fists tightened. He wanted to burn it all down.

Fiona clenched her fists but swallowed her protest. She’d done the work, but the credit, the risk, even the future, was taken from her and handed to someone who’d mocked her every step.

Benjamin went on, “Look, as a reward for your trouble, you can come back to the company. Start from the bottom, of course, no shortcuts. But you’ll get twice the wage of the regular staff. That’s more than fair.”

Max didn’t even let him finish. “She’s not taking your scraps. My wife deserves better than cleaning up your mistakes for a bonus.”

Fiona spun on him, her eyes sharp, tired, and furious. “Stay out of it, Max! This is my family, my business. Don’t make things worse. I’ll do what I have to, and you don’t get a say!”