The Mysterious Chairman Keith

Chapter 3

ENCOUNTERING BAD BLOODS 

The boardroom was a gleaming expanse of glass and steel, perched at the top of Nightingale Tower. The skyline spread out like a jeweled ocean beyond the windows, but Manuel barely noticed it.

A dozen of the city’s most powerful figures sat around the long table. Directors, division heads, and old men with eyes sharp enough to cut stone. The air felt choked with tension.

“Gentlemen,” Dave Keith said, his tone calm but commanding. “This is my son, Manuel Keith. From tomorrow onward, he will assume full operational authority over Nightingale Group.” He'd come along with Manuel and Laura to introduce Manuel.

A low murmur rippled through the room.

Manuel stood straight, wearing a black suit Laura had arranged for him. He bowed slightly to the room. “Good evening. I look forward to working with all of you.”

The words were polite, measured — but they carried weight. His gaze met theirs, unwavering.

The directors exchanged looks. Some nodded faintly in acknowledgment. Others frowned, concealing doubt behind corporate masks.

Dave’s voice cut through the silence. “That will be all for now. The formal handover ceremony will take place tomorrow, during the group’s anniversary celebration. Be ready.”

The meeting ended quickly — half an hour of terse introductions, subtle power plays, and polite smiles that hid calculation.

When Manuel returned to his father’s office, Dave was standing by the window, looking out over the glittering city.

“Well done,” he said without turning. “You held yourself with control. That’s more than most could manage on their first day.”

Manuel exhaled. “They don’t trust me.”

“They don’t have to,” Dave replied. “They just have to obey. Trust comes later, after you’ve proven to them all that you deserve it.”

Manuel hesitated. “Father… about the ceremony tomorrow. You’re sure I’m ready?”

Dave turned then, his eyes sharp. “You were born ready. Tomorrow isn’t just about readiness. It’s about right. You are my heir, and no one can deny that.”

Manuel nodded slowly.

Dave’s tone softened. “It also happens to be Nightingale’s founding anniversary. The city’s elite will all be there. Our allies, our rivals. Everyone who matters.”

He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Including the Darwin family.”

Manuel’s expression shifted. “Jamie’s family?”

Dave nodded. “They’ve been trying to encroach on our trade network for years. You’ll meet them soon enough.”

Manuel’s pulse quickened, but his face stayed calm. “Then tomorrow should be… interesting.”

Later that evening, Laura drove Manuel through the neon-lit city streets. The world outside was alive with color and noise, nightlife, traffic, the heartbeat of power.

“This is your villa,” Laura said as the car rolled to a stop before an iron gate. “Your father had it prepared long ago, waiting for you to return.”

The gate opened silently. Beyond it stretched a villa built in sleek modern architecture. White marble, dark glass, and a tranquil pool glowing under soft lights.

Manuel stepped out, taking it in. It didn’t feel like home. Not yet.

“Everything you need is inside,” Laura said, handing him a small keycard. “You’ll have privacy here. Security is handled discreetly.”

He nodded, distracted. His mind was elsewhere, on the fragments of knowledge swirling inside him since the awakening.

Once inside, he sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, breathing slowly. The cultivation techniques in his mind flickered like distant stars; patterns of energy circulation, breathing, and movement. They felt real, ancient, familiar.

But every time he tried to start, he hit a barrier. Something was missing.

He recalled one line clearly. The first awakening requires the Bloodroot Herb to stabilize the Dragon Vein.

He needed that herb… Immediately.

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the villa’s tall windows as Manuel met Laura again.

“I need your help,” he said. “There’s something called the Bloodroot Herb. It’s rare, but I have to find it before tonight.”

Laura frowned slightly. “Bloodroot… I’ve heard of it. Used in certain medicinal tonics. There’s only one place in the city that might carry it. The Evergreen Apothecary.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

The Evergreen Apothecary stood near the heart of the old district, where tradition met luxury. The air smelled faintly of herbs and incense, and the interior glowed with soft golden light. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars labeled in elegant script.

Laura parked the car, a sleek black Cullinan, and turned to him. “Want me to come in?”

Manuel shook his head. “No. I’ll handle it.”

He walked inside, the faint sound of a bell marking his entrance. A middle-aged clerk greeted him politely.

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I help you find today?”

“I’m looking for Bloodroot Herb,” Manuel said.

The clerk blinked, surprised. “That’s… quite rare, sir. You’re in luck. We have one left in stock.”

“I’ll take it.”

As the clerk moved to retrieve the box, the door opened again. Voices drifted in — female, refined but sharp.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s tone rang out. “We called earlier. You said the Bloodroot Herb was still available.”

Manuel turned.

Two women entered — one middle-aged with expensive jewelry and a face sculpted by years of privilege, the other younger, elegant, with features eerily similar to Lisa Stones.

Lisa’s mother. And her sister.

Recognition flared instantly. So did bitterness.

The clerk looked uneasy. “Ah… I’m very sorry, madam. The last Bloodroot Herb was just sold to this gentleman.”

Mrs. Stones turned sharply toward Manuel, eyes narrowing. “Him?”

Her daughter sneered. “Isn’t that Lisa’s ex-boyfriend? The one she dumped?”

The mother let out a laugh that dripped venom. “You? Buying Bloodroot Herb? That’s a rare and expensive item. Don’t tell me you can afford something like that.”

Manuel said nothing. He only reached for the small wooden box the clerk offered.

“Please,” Mrs. Stones continued, her voice rising. “Don’t be fooled by appearances. This man was nothing but a leech to my daughter. He can’t possibly pay for that herb.”

The clerk hesitated, glancing between them. “Sir, perhaps if you could—”

Manuel’s patience thinned. He took out the sleek black card his father had given him and placed it calmly on the counter. “Charge it to this.”

The color drained from the clerk’s face. He recognized that kind of card — one that most people only heard about in rumors. But before he could process it, Mrs. Stones let out a shrill laugh.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh! A black card? You? That’s obviously fake. A man like you couldn’t possibly—”

Her daughter joined in. “He’s probably trying to impress someone. Just call security.”

Manuel’s gaze darkened. He said nothing, but the weight in his eyes silenced the clerk before he could move.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said quietly. “Run the card.”

The room felt suddenly colder.