The Unrivalled Return Of Lord Valerian

CHAPTER 7 - LET'S GO TO IVERSIDE

Valerian finally arrived at the Iverside clubhouse, walking up to the driveway on foot, his shirt still faintly stained with the smell of his mother's sickroom.

He looked, by any measure that mattered to the people gathered here, like nothing at all.

Two security guards stationed at the grand entrance clocked him from thirty feet away, and their postures shifted instantly — shoulders squaring, hands drifting toward their belts.

"Hold it right there." The taller of the two guards stepped into his path, palm raised flat against Valerian's chest. "Where do you think you are going? This is a private event."

"I'm aware," Valerian said evenly. "I need to get inside."

The guard's eyes raked over him, top to bottom, lingering on the state of his shoes with open disdain.

"Yeah, I don't think so. This isn't a shelter, pal. Try the service entrance two blocks down if you're looking for scraps."

The second guard snorted, arms crossed over his chest. "Look at this guy. You lost, or did someone dare you to walk in here?"

"I'm not lost." Valerian's voice remained maddeningly level. "I have business inside. My sister is in that hall."

"Your sister." The taller guard laughed outright, glancing at his partner as though sharing a private joke. "Sure she is. Let me guess — she's real close friends with Director Arkwright, right? Everybody's got a sister in there tonight."

"Turn around," the second guard said, losing patience, taking a step forward that pushed into Valerian's space with clear intent to intimidate. "Before we make you turn around."

Valerian simply looked at them patiently. He could have ended this in under four seconds. He knew exactly where to strike, but causing a scene at the gate would only slow him down.

Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and brought out the small black card Minerva had handed over to him earlier that morning, holding it up between two fingers without a word.

The taller guard's mocking smile died mid-breath as he caught the sight of the card.

His eyes locked onto the crest etched into its surface and every trace of color drained from his face in the span of a heartbeat.

"That's—" he started, his voice cracking.

"The Midnight Onyx..." His partner finished for him, his pupils dilating.

"Sir." The word came out strangled, entirely unrecognizable from the sneer of thirty seconds ago. "Sir, I— please, right this way, I apologize for the— we didn't realize—"

"Move aside," Valerian said sternly.

The two men nearly tripped over each other scrambling to pull the doors open, heads bowed so low they might as well have been bracing for a blow.

Valerian walked past them without a second glance, already scanning the cavernous hall ahead for any sign of his sister.

Behind him, the moment the doors swung shut, the taller guard was already fumbling for the radio clipped to his shoulder, hands trembling badly enough that it took him three tries to get the button pressed.

“Control, this is front entrance. We have an unidentified holder of a top-level black card entering the main hall. Repeat— top-level black card. Visual confirmation of the crest. He’s heading inside now. I need supervisor confirmation now."

Three floors up, in the glass-walled security office overlooking the clubhouse's private entrance, the on-duty supervisor very nearly dropped his coffee.

"Say that again," he said into his own radio, already on his feet.

"Black card, sir. The real one. He just walked past us into the main hall."

The supervisor's mind raced through the implications at a speed that left his stomach somewhere behind him.

Only three of those cards existed in the entire world. If a fraud had slipped past his gate using a forged version, it would be his career — possibly his freedom that paid for the mistake.

And if it was genuine, and he'd failed to react with appropriate urgency, that would be just as damning.

There was only one way to be certain.

His hands shook slightly as he pulled up the private line — a number he had access to for true emergencies only, one he had never once had reason to use in four years of service.

The call connected on the third ring.

-------

At Vallencourt Group headquarters, Minerva Gentry sat at the head of a long glass conference table, a tablet propped in front of her displaying rows of company names, projected valuations, and partnership tiers, while her assistant Reyna hovered at her shoulder with a second tablet cradled against her chest.

"We're down to the final list, Madam Gentry," Reyna said, scrolling through the candidates one more time. "Legal wants your confirmation before the announcement goes out tomorrow morning. Should I lock it in as presented?"

Minerva's finger drifted across the screen, scanning names she had already half-memorized from the earlier briefings — logistics conglomerates, manufacturing groups, a handful of tech ventures with promising valuations but thin track records.

Then her eyes caught on one entry near the bottom of the tier-two list, and her hand went still.

A small, private firm, Gale Corporation. Modest revenue by Vallencourt's standards.

And a founder's name that she recognized instantly, because she had looked into Valerian’s past the moment the old master had named him successor.

She knew exactly who the company belonged to.

Keeya.

She knew about the divorce, even before Keeya had gone to humiliate Valerian that morning.

Minerva's lips curved slowly, the expression of someone rediscovering a piece on a chessboard they'd nearly forgotten about.

"Madam?" Reyna's voice pulled her back. "Should I approve the tier-two list as is? This one specifically — the founder is requesting an accelerated review, given her connection to Director Arkwright's recommendation."

Minerva was still considering her answer, turning the decision over when the private line on the table began to buzz.

The assistant answered, listened for several seconds, then covered the mouthpiece and leaned close. “Madam. The Iverside clubhouse security is on the line."

Minerva took the phone. "Minerva's speaking."

The supervisor's voice came through immediately, clipped with barely-controlled urgency.

"Madam Gentry, I apologize deeply for the interruption. We have a situation at the clubhouse that requires your direct confirmation. A man just entered the premises presenting the Midnight Onyx. Given the sensitivity, I need to verify this wasn't issued in error, or—"

"Describe him," Minerva said, already smiling.

"Mid-thirties, dark hair, plain clothing, worn shoes — frankly, Madam, if I may be honest, he did not look like the sort of guest we typically—"

"That's him," Minerva said softly, cutting him off, satisfaction threading through every syllable. "He has my full authorization, unrestricted, effective immediately. Whatever he requires inside that building, you provide it without question or delay. Am I understood?"

There was a beat of stunned silence on the other end. "Understood, Madam. Absolutely understood. My apologies again for—"

"There's nothing to apologize for," Minerva said, already rising from her chair, tablet forgotten on the table. "You did exactly what you should have."

She ended the call and stood there a moment, turning the pieces over in her mind, while Reyna stood there, watching her contemplate.

Theron was at the clubhouse tonight meeting with the partnership candidates to finalize the list.

That meant Keeya, freshly divorced and desperate for exactly the kind of favor only Vallencourt could grant, was very likely standing in that same hall at this very moment, hoping to charm her way into a fortune.

And Valerian had just walked into that same room carrying a card that could unmake a company with a single instruction.

"Madam?" Reyna asked carefully, watching the smile spreading across her employer's face with visible confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Minerva said, already reaching for her coat. "Something is finally about to become very right."

"The tier-two list, Madam — should I lock in the approval for Gale Corporation—"

"Hold it," Minerva said, pausing at the door, glancing back over her shoulder with a smile. "That particular decision isn't mine to make tonight."

Reyna blinked. "Then whose is it?"

Minerva's smile only deepened as she stepped out into the hallway, already moving toward the elevators, with Reyna scurrying after her.

“We are leaving the final decision on that particular partnership entirely in Valerian’s hands," Minerva said simply. “We're going to Iverside. I want to see what he does with it.”