The Fake Warlock

Smoke before fire

Chapter Six – Smoke Before Fire

The serpent had struck, and my counterstrike was already in motion. But enemies in shadows never reveal themselves all at once. They send smoke before the fire.

And that morning, the smoke reached my desk.

The First Clue

The office was unnaturally quiet for a Tuesday. Phones rang softer, footsteps echoed longer. Fear had a way of settling over a building like dust—it crept into the lungs, into the bones, into the whispers of those who thought themselves unseen.

My secretary entered with the Logistics report, clutching it as though it might bite. Her hands trembled when she placed the folder on my desk. “The signatures, sir,” she murmured, her voice thin, before fleeing as if proximity to me—or to what I represented—was dangerous.

I let the silence linger before opening it. The papers smelled faintly of ink and sweat. Someone had handled them nervously, recently.

Page by page, I examined the documents until the forged copper directive surfaced again—altered, rerouted, and stamped by departments it had never touched.

There.

A name, small and tucked into a margin like an afterthought, but damning in its placement.

Malik.

Junior accounts officer. A ghost in the company, the kind of man who blended into corridors, who ate lunch at his desk so no one had to remember his face. Forgettable. Unthreatening. A shadow by design.

But his initials sat where they did not belong.

A small smile tugged at my lips—not of triumph, but recognition. I had lived long enough to know that shadows rarely moved of their own accord. Pawns never acted without the hand of a master. If Malik’s initials were here, it was not because he schemed, but because someone else had pushed his hand across the page.

The serpent was clever. Too clever. They wanted me to see this. To chase the pawn, not the hand that guided it.

Still, pawns had their uses. Pawns bled when squeezed.

The Interrogation

I summoned Malik to my office under the pretense of reviewing quarterly expenses. It was an excuse bland enough to raise no suspicion but heavy enough to ensure he came running.

When the door opened, he entered cautiously, shoulders hunched as though he already knew he was walking into a den of wolves. His eyes darted to the corners of the room, searching for escape routes.

“Sit,” I ordered.

He obeyed instantly, lowering himself into the leather chair opposite me. His hands fidgeted, twisting together, then apart, then together again.

I slid the forged directive across the desk with deliberate slowness. The paper whispered against the wood as though announcing its own guilt.

“Tell me why your initials are here.”

Malik stared at the page as if it were a noose tightening around his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice.

“I—I don’t know, sir. I swear, I don’t remember signing—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The words cut sharper than any blade. His body jolted as though struck. The silence that followed grew thick, suffocating.

Sweat gathered at his temple. His lips trembled, opening and closing without sound. Then, like glass under pressure, he cracked.

“I was told to clear it,” he blurted, his voice cracking. “I didn’t question it, sir. It came through urgent, marked with your name. I thought—I thought it was real.”

“Who gave it to you?”

His eyes flicked toward the door, then back to me, panic flaring in their depths. “I… I can’t say. If I do—”

“You’ll be protected,” I cut in sharply. “But if you don’t…” I leaned forward, lowering my voice until it coiled like smoke. “…you’ll be destroyed.”

Malik shivered visibly, his breath quickening. He pressed his palms against his knees as though grounding himself against a current that threatened to sweep him away.

Finally, his lips parted, trembling around a confession. But then, just as suddenly, he clamped them shut. His eyes grew wild, darting left and right as though unseen eyes were watching him even here.

“They’ll kill me,” he whispered, almost too soft to hear.

Interesting. Fear of them outweighed fear of me. That meant my enemy was not merely powerful, but ruthless—ruthless enough that even speaking their name was a death sentence.

I studied Malik for a long moment, measuring the tremor in his voice, the sweat on his brow, the way he shrank into himself like a man already condemned. If I pressed further, he would break entirely. And a broken pawn was useless.

“Leave,” I commanded at last.

He bolted from the chair and stumbled toward the door, almost tripping in his haste to escape. His footsteps echoed down the corridor like a heartbeat gone mad.

I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands. Malik had revealed nothing, and yet everything.

The serpent was careful. Too careful. Malik’s silence confirmed what I already knew: this was no opportunistic theft. This was orchestrated. Deliberate. Calculated.

A game had begun. And the serpent was waiting for me to make my next move.

Joan’s Gambit

That evening, when the office had emptied and the city outside was painted in the fading hues of dusk, a knock came at my door.

It was soft. Deliberate.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Joan stepped inside.

She was dressed elegantly, though not extravagantly—a silk blouse in muted ivory, a skirt tailored with precision, a single silver chain resting at her throat. Her hair was pinned with calculated casualness, each strand placed where it would draw the eye without seeming intentional.

“Mr. Mark,” she said smoothly, her smile measured. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“That depends,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “What brings you here, Joan?”

Her eyes flickered—surprise that I remembered her name, then satisfaction that I had. She crossed the room with the grace of a woman accustomed to being watched. Every step was deliberate, designed to make silence her accomplice.

“I heard about the sabotage,” she said, lowering herself into the chair across from me. “Everyone in the city is talking. Some say the company is crumbling. Others say…” she paused, studying me carefully, “…you’re the reason it still stands.”

Her words were honey, but I tasted the poison beneath.

“And what do you say?”

She tilted her head, her lips curving into a smile that was almost too perfect. “I say you’re not the man people think you are. The Stephen Mark they describe was reckless. Weak. You…” her gaze lingered on me, “…are something else entirely.”

Seduction lay in her tone, yes—but beneath it, curiosity. Ambition. A hunger she tried to mask with sweetness.

“I’d like to help,” she continued, leaning forward slightly, just enough for her perfume to slip into the air between us. “Perhaps we could work together.”

I studied her in silence. Joan was no fool. She hadn’t come here out of idle interest or sympathy. She wanted something. Whether information, influence, or simply the security of attaching herself to power, I had not yet decided.

Her eyes searched mine, waiting, testing. But I gave her nothing.

Finally, she shifted, her smile softening, though her frustration cracked faintly beneath the mask. “Then at least allow me to check in from time to time. A man at war needs… allies.”

“Allies can become liabilities,” I said coolly.

Her eyes glimmered, both unsettled and intrigued. She rose with elegance, smoothing her blouse as though sealing her mask back in place. “Then I suppose I’ll have to prove I’m not.”

She left without another word, her perfume lingering in the air like a riddle.

I sat in silence long after she was gone. Joan was a puzzle piece that did not yet fit. The question was whether she sought to anchor herself to me… or to the serpent that slithered unseen through my father’s company.

The Dizziness

The night stretched thin as I pored over documents, tracing lines of ink that blurred and twisted before my eyes. Then it struck again.

The dizziness.

A sharp wave, pulling me under, dragging the world sideways. My hand gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles. My vision doubled, then tripled, words swimming into shapes I could not read.

The body resists.

The whisper seared through my mind, harsher now, almost a growl.

The soul is not yet settled. Fulfill what remains undone… or be torn apart.

I forced my breath steady, pushing back the sickness. My mission had already been written in blood and shadow: to make the company strong, to restore what this body’s father had entrusted. Until that was done, until this vessel fully accepted me, my revenge against Joan—and the serpent within the company—would remain bound to this greater task.

The war in the boardroom was no longer about profit and loss. It was about survival.

Smoke Before Fire

The next morning, I gathered the senior staff. Their eyes followed me nervously, measuring my steps, waiting for cracks. They expected a weakened man, crushed by sabotage and illness.

Instead, they found me sharp. Resolved.

“The serpent hides among us,” I declared, my voice reverberating against the walls. “They think shadows protect them. But shadows are nothing but the absence of light. And I will drag light into every corner of this company.”

Murmurs rippled through the room, unease thickening like smoke.

Trent smirked in his corner, but for the briefest heartbeat, his mask faltered.

“Until then,” I continued, “remember this: I will not fall. Not to sabotage. Not to whispers. Not to hidden knives. Whoever moves against me has already lost. They simply do not know it yet.”

The words fell like a blade suspended above their heads.

The serpent had shown smoke.

Soon, they would bring fire.

And when they did, I would be waiting.