The Fake Warlock

The serpent in the grass

Chapter Five – The Serpent in the Grass

The company was no longer quiet.

Whispers traveled faster than emails, faster than signed memos. Workers glanced over their shoulders when I passed, as though expecting shadows to leap out of the walls behind me. Sabotage had spread like poison in the bloodstream, and everyone feared infection.

Good. Fear made men cautious—and caution revealed cracks.

But fear also bred desperation. Whoever had dared strike at me would not stop with one blow. They would test me again, push harder, until they were certain of either my collapse or their victory.

The serpent had bitten once. Now it waited in the grass, tongue flicking, watching if its prey weakened.

I would not.

Testing the Trap

Three days after the sabotage, I set my own snare.

At dawn, I signed a falsified directive—one that instructed a phantom shipment of copper to be sent to our southern branch. The paperwork looked official. The signatures were forged by my own hand, flawless enough to fool any clerk. The order itself was fake, designed to exist only on paper, a lure for greedy hands.

I distributed it quietly through Logistics, saying nothing to the board. Then I waited.

By evening, the bait was gone. A shadow had moved quickly, intercepting the papers, rerouting approvals.

When the altered order returned to my desk the next morning, the trap was confirmed: someone inside the company had taken the bait. The serpent was close, watching every move I made.

But the mistake was theirs. The moment they touched the false directive, their fingerprints—whether literal or metaphorical—were on it. And sooner or later, I would trace it back.

Joan’s Return

I had just dismissed my secretary when the knock came at my office door. It was softer than usual, deliberate.

“Come in,” I said.

Joan stepped inside, dressed elegantly but not extravagantly. A silk blouse, simple jewelry, her hair pinned with the precision of someone who wanted to appear effortless while calculating every strand.

“Mr. Mark,” she said, her smile practiced but warm. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Depends,” I answered, leaning back in my chair. “What brings you here, Joan?”

Her eyes flickered with surprise. I had remembered her name, though she had never told me it mattered. She recovered quickly, crossing the room with the grace of a woman who knew every gaze would follow her.

“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 on the brink. Others say… you’re the reason it still stands.”

Her compliment was honey, but I tasted the edge of poison beneath it.

“And what do you say?” I asked.

She tilted her head, her smile widening just slightly. “I say you’re not the man people think you are. The Stephen Mark they describe was reckless. Weak. You… are something else.”

Her eyes lingered on me, too long, too intently. Seduction mingled with curiosity, a dangerous blend.

“I’d like to help,” she continued, leaning forward just enough for her perfume to reach me. “Perhaps we could work together.”

I studied her carefully. Joan was no fool. She hadn’t come here simply out of interest or sympathy. She wanted something—what, I hadn’t yet decided. Information, perhaps. Influence. Or maybe she simply wanted to tether herself to a rising power before others could.

I offered her nothing but silence, letting her words hang in the air until she shifted, uneasy beneath my gaze.

“Thank you for your concern,” I said at last, my tone cool. “But this is my burden to carry. No outsider should interfere.”

Her lips parted, as if to argue, but she caught herself. Instead, she smiled again, softer this time, masking her frustration. “Then at least allow me to check in from time to time. A man at war needs… allies.”

I allowed myself a faint smirk. “Allies can become liabilities.”

Her eyes glimmered, both intrigued and unsettled. She rose gracefully, smoothing her blouse. “Then I suppose I’ll have to prove I’m not.”

As she left, I watched her closely. Joan was a puzzle, a piece on the board I hadn’t yet placed. For now, I would let her linger at the edges. Sometimes the most dangerous moves are made by those who pretend to be harmless.

The Dizziness

That night, as I poured over documents in my office, the dizziness struck again. My vision blurred, words bending and warping across the page. I gripped the desk hard, feeling the tremor in my hands.

The body resists.

The whisper in my mind was harsher this time, almost a growl. The soul is not yet settled. Fulfill what remains undone… or be torn apart.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, forcing the sickness down. The mission was clear: make the company strong again. Win my father’s pride. Until that was done, my revenge against Joan—and the serpent within the company—would have to move in tandem with this greater task.

The war inside the boardroom was not only about profit and loss. It was about survival itself.

A Declaration

The next morning, I stood before the senior staff once more. They expected weariness, hesitation. Instead, they saw resolve sharper than ever.

“The serpent hides among us,” I told them, my voice resonant in the hushed boardroom. “They think their shadow protects them. But shadows are only the absence of light. And I will bring light to every corner of this company.”

Gasps, murmurs, the shuffle of restless bodies.

Trent’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment.

“Until then,” I continued, “every eye in this room should remember this: I will not fall. Not to sabotage, not to whispers, not to hidden knives. Whoever moves against me has already lost. They just don’t know it yet.”

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended above their heads.

The serpent had drawn first blood.

Now, it was my turn.