2025-07-07 03:50:00The skyline of New Orleans glimmered under a sickly dusk; the city’s pulse uneven. Once, the name Gordonis lit up the city like gospel. Now it clung like a curse to the crumbling towers of Gordonis Corporation.
Inside the top floor of the glass monolith that housed the company, Tom Gordonis sat stiff in a leather chair far too big for his shrinking confidence. The marble desk before him was strewn with newspapers and reports: Financial Disaster Looms for Gordonis Corp, Once Golden Empire Bleeds Out Investors, Whispers of Corruption and Collapse.
He rubbed his temples, the soft sound of classical music from the corner radio failing to soothe the growing panic under his skin.
“Cut the music,” he snapped.
The assistant outside the door heard it and killed the soft Beethoven. Silence swallowed the office, giving room for the anxiety to breathe louder.
The last six years had been a storm.
He had clawed his way to the top, stolen it from Andre, and now it was slipping through his fingers. Every step forward brought two collapses. Whispers in boardrooms. Emails gone unanswered. Media digging up ghosts.
The ghost of Andre Gordonis still haunted the building.
The ghost of a brother he betrayed.
The door opened with a soft click. Angela White stepped inside, heels echoing across the polished floor like gavel strikes.
She didn’t sit.
“I’ve received word,” she said, always direct. “They smell blood. Your competitors. The vultures are circling.”
Tom’s jaw clenched. “I need numbers. Not riddles.”
“You want numbers? Here.” She dropped a file onto his desk. “In the last four months, six investors have pulled out. Three mergers failed. And now there are rumors of an anonymous group buying shares behind your back.”
Tom’s eyes scanned the file. “Who?”
Angela folded her arms. “That’s the problem. No one knows. Just that the money’s clean, fast, and aggressive. And today... they reached out.”
Tom’s gaze snapped to her.
“An offer?”
She nodded. “An investment proposal. Enough to buy you time. Maybe even turn this around.”
He leaned forward. “Who’s behind it?”
She hesitated.
“They call him Don Alaric.”
The name sliced through the air like a blade.
Tom froze. “What kind of name is that?”
“The kind that comes from nowhere,” Angela said. “There are no records. No social security. No photos. Just... a trail of perfectly timed moves. He’s made a fortune overseas. Russian mining, Gulf logistics, Central American crypto vaults.”
“And he wants us?” Tom asked, disbelief lacing his voice.
“He’s not after the company,” she said slowly. “He wants access. Prestige. A base in America. Your empire…what’s left of it….gives him that.”
Tom leaned back, calculating. “And the catch?”
Angela opened another folder. “One unusual condition.”
She slid the paper to him.
Tom read it, then frowned.
“He wants Hermosa?”
Angela gave a slow nod. “As his personal liaison. She’ll report directly to him.”
Tom felt the first pang of warning in his gut. Hermosa had been quiet for years, loyal, buried in mid-level management roles after the trial. She’d distanced herself from it all, but this could drag her back into the spotlight.
“He knows about her?” he asked.
Angela’s lips twitched faintly. “Maybe. Maybe more than we think.”
Tom’s fingers tightened around the edge of the paper. “This smells like trouble.”
“It smells like salvation,” Angela countered. “Unless you have another ghost billionaire in your pocket, I suggest we play his game.”
Tom hesitated... then sighed, the weight of six years of deception pressing down like iron.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Set the meeting.”
---
It was held after midnight, in a private underground vault beneath the French Quarter. No cameras. No media. Just Tom, Angela, and four silent guards standing by.
The room was empty save for a long black table and two chairs.
Tom paced nervously.
Then, footsteps.
Soft. Purposeful.
He turned as the door opened and a man entered, flanked by two masked security agents.
Tall. Dressed in a midnight three-piece suit tailored with violent precision. Leather gloves. A black velvet mask covered the upper half of his face, casting sharp shadows over a mouth that neither smiled nor frowned. His presence was a weapon.
Tom’s throat dried.
“Mr. Gordonis,” the man said, his voice low, controlled, like it had been forged in embers.
“I… You must be Don Alaric,” Tom managed, forcing composure.
Don Alaric gave a shallow nod. “Let’s discuss business.”
He sat. The guards never left his side.
Angela placed the contract on the table. “The terms are clear. A 27% stake in Gordonis Corp in exchange for liquid capital, PR recovery, and foreign investor connections.”
Tom slid the documents forward. “And you’ll keep the company afloat?”
Don Alaric tapped the table once. “I’ll rebuild it. If you agree to my one condition.”
He already knew the answer, but he waited like a predator stalking compliance.
Tom swallowed hard. “Hermosa Rodriguez. She’ll report to you?”
Alaric didn’t blink. “She’ll represent you. If you still want your company to have a future.”
There was no room for discussion.
The mask shifted slightly as if daring Tom to refuse.
Tom stared at the black ink of the signature line. His pen hovered, then dropped. A flourish later, the deal was signed.
“Done,” he said quietly.
Don Alaric stood.
“Excellent,” he said, then turned toward the door. “My liaison begins tomorrow.”
--
The knock on the door was brisk.
Hermosa Rodriguez looked up from her reports, her heart skipping. She hadn’t seen Tom in weeks. Not since the last merger disaster.
When he entered, his expression was tight. Not angry. Not tired. Just… burdened.
“We’re out of time,” he said. “But someone just bought us more.”
She stood. “What are you talking about?”
“An investor,” Tom said. “He’s agreed to rescue us. Don Alaric.”
She frowned. “Never heard of him.”
“No one has,” he replied grimly. “He’s rich, elusive, and brilliant. And he wants you.”
Hermosa’s breath caught. “What?”
“He asked for you by name. Said he’d only sign if you acted as his liaison.”
Hermosa’s face went pale. “Why me?”
Tom paused, just a flicker. “Maybe because of your trial testimony. Maybe because you know how we operate. Or maybe he just wants someone… loyal.”
Hermosa bristled.
“You think I wanted any of what happened back then?” she asked.
Tom raised a hand. “This isn’t about the past. It’s about survival. You’re assigned to our new investor. Don’t screw this up.”
She swallowed the protest rising in her throat.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “When do I meet him?”
Tom’s eyes lingered on hers for a second too long.
“He’s already on his way.”
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Chapter 10: The First Blow
The Gordonis Corporation boardroom, once an untouchable symbol of opulence and control, now felt like a battlefield. Walls lined with glass refracted sunlight onto polished mahogany and cold marble, but none of it could hide the tremor running through Tom Gordonis's hand as he read the report splayed across the table.“What the hell is this?” Tom barked, slamming the document down.Don Alaric leaned back in his chair, unbothered, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “That, Mr. Gordonis, is the beginning.”Tom’s eyes flared. “You went behind my back and bought out Vanguard Mercantile? That’s one of our top revenue streams!”“Correction,” Don Alaric said smoothly. “Was one of your top revenue streams.”He folded his hands on the table like a man delivering a eulogy, not a business update. “You signed over veto rights. Full asset control. I simply exercised what you were so desperate to give.”Tom’s face went red. “You son of a….”“Ah, ah.” Don Alaric raised a finger
Chapter 9: Cracks in the Mask
The hotel ballroom pulsed with the low hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional flash of camera lights bouncing off crystal chandeliers. World leaders in tech, trade, and finance mingled beneath golden sconces, their laughter as polished as their cufflinks.Hermosa adjusted the sleek navy dress hugging her body, its high slit revealing just enough leg to draw stares, and conceal the tremble beneath her skin. She hated these events. Even more, she hated the man who had just placed his hand on the small of her back with familiar, possessive ease.“Smile, Hermosa,” Don Alaric murmured, his lips barely brushing her ear. “You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”Her jaw clenched.“Do all your business partners require this level of… proximity?” she asked through her teeth, forcing a smile for the cameras as another executive approached.“Only the ones I trust,” he said, with a gleam in his eye that felt far too personal.They made their rounds, shaking hands, exchanging p
Chapter 8: Bella Makes a Move
Bella Ray wasn’t the kind of woman who ignored her instincts, especially not when they screamed in her ear like sirens on Bourbon Street.She adjusted her glasses, eyes narrowed as she stared at the glossy investor dossier spread across her apartment table. Don Alaric’s rise had been too perfect, too surgical. Within weeks of appearing on the Gordonis Corp radar, he had injected capital, demanded control, and silenced anyone who raised objections, including Tom Gordonis himself, who now walked like a man being led on a leash.Bella didn’t believe in ghosts. But something about this “Don Alaric” had that lingering chill of a man who rose from the grave.She tucked her curly auburn hair into a bun, snapped shut the file, and pulled on her coat. Time to do what she did best…. dig.---Bella’s first stop was the Gordonis Corp public records office. Her credentials as a private security analyst, and a little charm, got her into the lesser-known files. She combed through purchase ledgers, b
Chapter 7: Shadows of the Past
The low rumble of the engine echoed through the glossy floors of the private terminal. Hermosa stood stiffly near the glass wall, arms crossed, suitcase beside her like a silent companion. Outside, the sleek black jet gleamed under the morning sun, cold and distant, just like the man who had summoned her.Don Alaric arrived without announcement. No entourage this time, just him in a dark tailored coat, sunglasses shielding his eyes. He didn’t look at her. He walked straight past her and toward the waiting staircase of the plane, a silent storm wrapped in expensive fabric.Hermosa followed, cheeks flushed with unease and resentment.Inside, the jet was as lavish as expected, cream leather seats, polished mahogany, chilled champagne waiting in a silver bucket. But the air felt too still, too heavy, like walking into a trap wrapped in silk.Don Alaric took the window seat in the rear cabin and pulled out a tablet. “We’ll review Zurich’s merger conditions mid-flight,” he said without look
Chapter 6: The Conditions of Control
The Gordonis boardroom was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioner. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering New Orleans skyline, but inside, the tension was thick enough to choke on. At the head of the long obsidian table sat Tom Gordonis, rigid in his seat. Around him, the board members exchanged nervous glances. Angela White stood to one side, her arms folded, watching.The glass doors opened without fanfare. Don Alaric entered, flanked by two silent aides. His footsteps were measured, echoing softly on the polished marble floor. He wore the same dark suit. The scars on his face caught the light, a stark reminder that he was as dangerous as he was wealthy.Tom rose, forcing a polite smile he could not sustain. “Mr. Alaric, thank you for coming.”Don Alaric inclined his head once. “Let’s dispense with pleasantries, shall we?” His voice was smooth, each word precise. “I have reviewed the company’s books. The numbers paint a clear picture: Gordonis Corp is bleeding
Chapter 5: A Haunting Familiarity
Hermosa stood outside the glossy doors of the private investor suite on the thirty-second floor of Gordonis Corp, her palms damp against the folder she clutched to her chest. The air around her was colder than usual, like the building itself sensed the tension rising within its steel bones.Tom’s words echoed in her ears: “You’re assigned to our new investor. Don’t screw this up.”She took a deep breath and opened the door.Inside, the room was dimly lit, all chrome and glass, with city lights bleeding in through floor-to-ceiling windows. At the far end, seated in a black leather chair, was the man who had quietly shaken the financial world in recent months — Don Alaric.He stood when she entered. Tall. Imposing. Masked.His face was hidden behind a smooth, matte-black mask that covered everything but his sharp mouth and jawline. He wore a dark tailored suit, perfectly fitted, a single silver pin gleaming on his lapel. But it wasn’t his attire that sent a chill through her.It was som
