The Northern Warlord Returns

CHAPTER 6

Blue Mountain coffee at Morgan Estate dining room. Mr. Morgan was at the head of the long table, scrolling lazily through his tablet while a financial daily newspaper lay wide open beside his plate.

The front-page headline blared details of the successful engagement gala from the previous night, featuring full-color photographs of Sean Thickcup standing proudly beside a visibly stiff Audrey.

"Look at this market response, Sean," Mr. Morgan murmured, a proud, self-satisfied chuckle escaping his lips as he tapped the screen.

"Our stock jumped four percent before the opening bell even rang this morning. Tying our lineage to the Thickcups was the single greatest business move of my career."

Sean sat a few seats down, wearing a silk designer bathrobe, cutting into a rare steak with lazy, exaggerated movements.

He took a slow sip of his mimosa, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"I told you, Mr. Morgan, people like us don't lose," Sean bragged, chewing slowly as he recalled the events of the night before.

"Did you see the look on Richard Eagle’s face when I called him out? The guy looked like a whipped dog wearing a discount suit. To think he actually had the nerve to show his face in a place like the Grand Palace. He's finished."

Mr. Morgan snorted dismissively, waving a hand in the air as if flicking away an annoying housefly.

"Don't waste another breath on that beggar. A decade ago, when he was in the military, he might have had a fraction of authority, but now? He's a broken, penniless nobody with zero assets, zero influence, and zero future. He can't touch us even if he tried for a thousand years."

Across the table, Audrey was motionless, her fingers wrapped so tightly around her porcelain teacup that her knuckles tightened.

She hadn't touched a single bite of food on her plate.

The sound of her father and fiancé mocking Richard scraped against her nerves like sandpaper.

They were so wrapped up in their own invincible arrogance, so blinded by their wealth and social standing, that they couldn't even see the massive, freight-train-sized disaster barreling straight toward them.

"Father, must you gloat over someone who has already lost everything?" Audrey finally spoke up, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of exhaustion and bitter resentment.

"He didn't bother anyone; he was just standing quietly in the corner before you both dragged him into the spotlight."

Mr. Morgan dropped his tablet onto the table with a sharp clack, his brows knitting together in immediate irritation.

"He dared to set foot where he didn't belong, Audrey! And you need to check that tone of yours," Mr. Morgan snapped, his eyes narrowing.

"You are a Morgan, and by tomorrow, you’ll be a Thickcup. Start acting like an elite instead of wasting sympathy on a pathetic stray who wouldn't even be able to afford the clothes on your back."

Sean shot Audrey a predatory, condescending smirk, leaning back in his chair.

"Let her be, Mr. Morgan. She's just experiencing a bit of pre-wedding jitters," Sean purred, his voice dripping with false affection that made Audrey's stomach churn.

"Don't worry, my love. After the wedding tomorrow, I'll make sure you're so busy spending my money you won't even remember what poor looks like."

Audrey lowered her gaze, blinking rapidly to trap the hot tears stinging her eyes.

She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor.

"Excuse me. I have a wedding fitting to attend," she whispered flatly, turning on her heel and marching out of the dining room before they could witness her breaking down.

Miles away from the opulent luxury of the Morgan Estate, tucked deep inside a quiet corner of the downtown commercial district, things were entirely different.

Inside a beautiful minimalist office suite draped in muted charcoal tones, Richard Eagle stood before a glass mirror.

He held a steaming ceramic mug of black coffee, his eyes glued to his face.

His expression had an absolute, chilling aura, the kind of quiet glare a predator maintains right before it steps out to execute a plan.

Oscar walked into the room holding a tablet, a wide, amused grin stretched across his face.

"Boss, you should have seen the financial blogs this morning," Oscar chuckled, tossing the tablet onto the conference table.

"The Morgans are throwing interviews left and right, bragging about how invincible their real estate portfolio is, and how last night's humiliation proved they rule the Northeast Hemisphere."

Richard took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee before turning around.

A dangerous, cold smirk touched the corners of his lips.

"They are damn predictable. I knew they'd buy our public act hook, line, and sinker," Richard said, his voice deep and calculated.

"Arrogance is the heaviest armor a man can wear, Oscar. It makes him feel safe, but the moment the weight crushes him, he can't even lift his arms to fight back."

"True enough, Commander," Oscar agreed, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"So, where do we strike first? Do you want me to mobilize the regional logistics teams and choke off their supply lines at the ports?"

Richard shook his head slowly, walking over to the table and leaning his hands against the surface.

"No. Not yet. If we hit them hard now, they'll panic, rally their political cronies, and look for a way out. We aren't here to give them an easy slaughter."

Richard paused, his piercing eyes locking onto Oscar's.

"We are here to let them build their tower straight to the clouds so that when we pull the foundation out, the fall destroys every single brick."

Oscar’s grin widened into a sharp, predatory smile.

"I love the way your mind works, boss. So what's step one today? Are we just sitting back and watching them celebrate?"

"Not quite," Richard replied calmly, tapping the screen of the tablet Oscar had left behind.

"Let's start with something small. Something so mundane that even their junior accountants won't blink an eye at it."

Richard typed a quick sequence of keystrokes, pulling up a public municipal database detailing old commercial zoning permits across the Northeast district.

"Pull up the ownership files for the old industrial warehouse block on 4th Street," Richard instructed quietly.

Oscar's fingers flew across his own device, bringing up the digital archive.

"Got it. Property ID 88-B. A massive, decaying warehouse facility registered under a Morgan Family holding company. They haven't used it in five years. It's listed as a dormant asset."

"Brilliant," Richard nodded, his tone filled with knowing intent.

"Initiate a routine, low-level legal inquiry through one of our secondary proxy shell companies. File a standard municipal records review regarding a minor property tax reassessment and a minor boundary alignment on that specific parcel."

Oscar blinked in surprise, looking up from his screen.

"A property tax inquiry? Boss, that's so minor it won't even register as a blip on their radar. Their automated billing department will just pay the twenty-dollar filing f*e and forget about it within five minutes."

"Exactly," Richard replied, his cold smirk returning.

"That is precisely the point. A fish doesn't f*el the hook when you only tie a single microscopic thread to its fin. Let them pay the f*e. I know they'll dismiss it as a clerical error."

Richard straightened up, buttoning his jacket as he stared out the mirror once more.

"This is day one, Oscar. A hole is getting dug, we're setting the bait, and the first invisible thread has just been tied. Trust me, this is going to be fun.”