The unstoppable vengeance of Micheal Krux.

24: Cracks in the crown

Chapter 24; Cracks in the Crown

Gabriel Luxter POV

The boardroom no longer felt like mine.

That was the first thought that settled in my mind as I stepped in that morning, the glass walls reflecting a city that looked the same as always, but carried a different weight now. The long table was already occupied, documents spread out, screens lit, voices low and controlled, yet beneath all of it, there was tension that no one bothered to hide anymore.

I walked to the head of the table, adjusting my cuff once before taking my seat, my expression composed despite the pressure building from every direction.

“Let’s begin,” I said.

The room quieted immediately, but it wasn’t the same kind of silence I used to command. This one came with expectation, with questions waiting to be asked instead of orders waiting to be followed.

One of the senior investors leaned forward slightly, his fingers resting against a stack of reports.

“We’ve reviewed the latest market data,” he began, his tone measured but firm. “Luxter Energy has not stabilized, and the situation with Krux Holdings is shifting faster than anticipated.”

I didn’t respond immediately, allowing him to finish.

“The involvement of this foreign firm,” he continued, “has changed the dynamic completely. We need clarity on your next move.”

Clarity? I was surprised.

They all wanted clarity now?

I leaned back slightly, my gaze moving across the room, reading each face, measuring where they stood.

“We maintain position,” I said. “Short-term instability does not define long-term control.”

A few of them exchanged glances for a while without saying anything.

“That would be easier to accept if we had leverage,” another board member said without hesitatio.“Right now, it appears we’re reacting instead of leading.”

The statement was too direct for me.

I let the silence sit for a moment before responding, keeping my voice steady.

“Then we change that,” I said.

“How?” the first investor asked immediately.

I reached for the tablet in front of me, pulling up a projection and sending it to the main screen. The numbers shifted into view, structured, deliberate, designed to present strength even under pressure.

“We reposition our approach,” I said. “We move away from passive alignment and take a more aggressive stance in negotiations.”

“With who?” someone asked. “They won’t meet with us.”

That was the problem and everyone in the room knew it.

“They will,” I said, forcing myself to sound confident.

But despite that, the confidence in my voice didn’t come from certainty.

Another pause followed, heavier this time.

“And if they don’t?” the same investor pressed.

I looked directly at him.

“Then we make it costly for them not to,” I said catching everyone with surprise and it felt so good because now it felt like I was speaking their language again.

By the time the meeting ended, nothing had been fully resolved.

But something had changed, there was improvement.

And for the first time since this started, I could feel it clearly.

When I stepped out of the boardroom and into the corridor, the cool air hitting my face as I walked with controlled pace toward my office. The faint scent of polished wood and filtered air followed me, but it did nothing to settle the tension building in my chest.

“Gabriel.”

I stopped.

Turned.

Layla stood a few steps behind me, her posture straight, her expression composed, but there was something familiar in her eyes now.

“You met him,” I said.

It wasn’t a question, because that look alone said so much, she looked like she’s encountered a great mountain that she had to cross, which she did, first she held my gaze for a second before nodding.

“Yes,” she replied.

I studied her carefully, looking for anything that would give me an advantage, anything that would tell me more than her words.

“And?” I asked.

There was a brief pause before she answered.

“He’s not who you think he is,” she said.

That wasn’t useful.

“Then who is he?” I pressed.

Her jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, it looked like she was deciding how much to say.

“That’s not the question you should be asking,” she said but I wasn’t in the mood to joke around haven came out of the scrutinating meeting.

“I don’t have time for riddles, Layla,” I said.

“And I don’t have the luxury of pretending this is still under control,” she replied.

I didn’t say anything again, giving her the benefit of doubt and enough time to speak up for herself.

But she didn’t say anything and the silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

“What did he say to you?” I asked, my voice lower now, more focused.

She exhaled slowly, her gaze shifting briefly before returning to mine.

“He asked me to choose,” she said.

Something about that answer didn’t sit right.

“Choose what?” I asked.

She didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, she stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to keep the conversation between us.

“He’s not just positioning himself against us,” she said. “He’s dismantling everything piece by piece, and he’s doing it in a way that makes it look like we’re the ones making the mistakes.”

I watched her carefully.

“why would the ceo ask you to choose? What does he want?” I asked.

This time, when she looked at me, there was no hesitation.

“Correction,” she said.

The word settled into the space between us, unfamiliar and unsettling.

“Correction of what?” I asked.

Her gaze held mine.

“Everything,” she replied. “It was Micheal Krux”

After saying that. It seems the world was on halt, why didn’t I think of him? Of cause it had to be him.

…

That night, the headlines shifted again.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

‘Krux Holdings Shows Early Signs of Stabilization’

‘Volkov Influence Begins Market Correction’

‘Luxter Energy Faces Continued Pressure Amid Strategic Uncertainty’

I stood in my office, the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass, my reflection faint against the darkness as I watched the reports roll in.

For the first time since this started, it’s now making sense

---

I picked up my phone, scrolling through the reports one more time before stopping at a name.

Volkov.

A name with no face.

No history that could be traced.

No presence that could be challenged, that was intentional concealment and concealment meant intention.

I set the phone down slowly, my mind already moving ahead, recalculating, adjusting, preparing for the next move.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not even close, if anything, this was where it actually began for I wasn’t about to lose control of my own company without a fight.