The Rise of John Raymond

Chapter 42: Gathering of the Forsaken

Agnes sat in the backseat of her sleek black sedan, eyes fixated on the passing lights as the city blurred past her window. The smile that played on her lips was subtle but deadly. She had done it again. Another successful manipulation, another secret uncovered, another profitable move made without lifting a gun or raising her voice.

She had found out about a hidden clause buried deep in one of the Raymond estate’s offshore contracts. The kind of clause that only a trained eye could catch and only a trained mind could exploit. And exploit it she did.

But now it was time to return—not just to her lavish reality but to the inner circle that had remained invisible to the rest of the empire. A council of betrayal. A group of ambitious, brilliant, and dangerously forsaken individuals determined to see the Raymond dynasty brought to its knees.

Her destination was a familiar one. A grand five-star hotel tucked in the heart of the city. Ironically, it was a Raymond property, one of their flagship structures that screamed power and prestige from the outside. What most didn’t know was that it had been infiltrated from the inside long before it had even opened its doors. The crew who constructed it—some handpicked by these conspirators—had embedded a hidden underground chamber accessible only through five particular deluxe suites.

Emily was already there.

She always arrived first. Cautious and calculated, she never risked being seen entering with anyone else. Tonight, she had taken her usual steps: changed her appearance with a cropped brown wig, a pair of designer glasses, and muted makeup. Her access card had already been prepared in advance—room 220. She walked in with the composure of someone used to playing a double life.

The receptionist, young and clueless, greeted her with a practiced smile and handed over the key. They never asked questions. As long as the bills were paid—and they always were in full and in cash—they kept their lips sealed.

Agnes arrived a few minutes later and strolled confidently up to the reception. Unlike Emily, she didn’t disguise herself. She didn’t need to. She was a master of charm and influence. Every time she came, she brought gifts—chocolates from Belgium, perfume from Paris, designer watches, and wads of foreign currency. It bought her not only silence but loyalty. Real loyalty. The kind where the staff willingly volunteered information before she even asked.

Her keycard was for room 230. Smiling warmly at the receptionist, she accepted it and exchanged a few pleasantries before disappearing into the elevator.

Moments later, Tamara arrived—reserved, quiet, yet ever so watchful. She was the head of personnel and possibly the most critical piece of the puzzle. She knew everything. Who was hired, who was fired, who got sick leave, who had access to which floors of which buildings, and most importantly, who could be bribed. She collected her access card for room 250 and vanished without a word.

The last to arrive, as expected, was Bobby. The man behind the money. He was supposed to be clean, loyal to the Raymonds, untouchable. But beneath his polished exterior was a man who wanted more. More power. More influence. More money. And Emily had known exactly how to bring him in.

He didn’t go to the reception himself. That would have raised questions. Instead, his assistant, a sharp-looking woman in her late twenties, collected the card for room 240 and passed it to him in the basement garage.

Each of them freshened up in their rooms, changed into more casual attire, and then activated the mechanism hidden beneath their bedstands. A fingerprint scan—carefully placed and coded—unlocked a hidden panel in the wall. Behind it, a narrow corridor led to a private elevator. One by one, they descended into the depths of the Raymonds’ most luxurious hotel… and into their most dangerous secret.

The underground room was vast and beautifully furnished. Polished floors, dim golden lighting, a circular table at the center, and walls lined with old books and vintage maps of Raymond properties. There were drinks waiting at each seat, along with soft jazz playing in the background—a mockery of civility over what they were about to discuss.

Emily was already seated, sipping from her glass of bourbon.

Tamara took her spot, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room. Agnes arrived next, elegant as always, and took her place without a word.

Bobby strolled in last and pulled his chair out slowly, loosening his tie.

“I don't think John knows what he’s walking into,” Tamara began, breaking the silence.

Her voice was calm, but her words carried the weight of truth. They had all seen him today—confident, composed, and dangerously strategic. It had not gone unnoticed.

“That old man didn’t explain to him who he should ignore and who he should crush,” Bobby muttered, swirling his drink.

“He was feeling so high and mighty,” Emily said, eyes narrowing. “But Bobby, you didn’t do a good job hiding the flaw in the contract.”

Bobby’s brows furrowed. “I think Hera is to blame for not disguising it properly.”

Almost on cue, the door creaked open and in walked Hera—their legal consultant, their attorney, and the man whose loyalty had always seemed to waver just enough to make them nervous.

“Apologies for being late,” he said, flashing his signature smirk. “And yes, I’ll take the blame for the oversight.”

He took his seat, completely unbothered by their glares.

“I’ll do better next time,” he added with a nod toward Emily.

“Why are you late?” Tamara asked, her voice sharp.

Emily echoed the question. “You're never late, Hera.”

“Had paperwork to wrap up. Today’s been a mess,” he answered smoothly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

Agnes leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Let’s move on.”

Hera exhaled softly, relief washing over him. If they had pressed further, if they had known he’d deliberately left that clause for John to find… he wouldn’t be sitting here anymore.

But Hera had his reasons. As dangerous as this circle was, John represented a different kind of threat—and possibly, a way out. Hera had shaken John’s hand after the board meeting and had discreetly slipped a small folded note into his palm. A warning. A whisper in the middle of a storm.

Back in the room, the discussion heated up.

“That John guy is proving to be smart,” Agnes said, resting her hand on her glass. “So how do we silence him for a while… or put him in his place?”

“I think we start by releasing a press report that will drop the stock price,” Bobby suggested. “Then, when the panic hits, we step in with a statement that stabilizes it—on the condition he runs to us for help.”

“Brilliant,” Emily said, raising her glass. “Let’s work with it.”

The others murmured in agreement, a dark chorus of approval echoing through the room.

Then they turned to the contract again. This time, Hera redrafted it carefully. Every word, every clause, every signature line was reviewed, altered, and twisted to favor their hidden motives. Their plan was clear: let John sign it. Let him unknowingly tie the noose around his own neck.

And when the time was right… they would tighten it.