When I Got My Senses Back

Chapter XIV: Trouble In The Big Belmont Shipping Lines (1)

Six years. Six years ago????

Was that why the Belmont estate felt so hollow that day when he went back there after he got his senses back? Was that also why Caesar had called the landline that day too?

“And you…” Reginald pointed between both men. “You were holding this position… for me? Since six years ago?”

Caesar gave Noah a sideways glance and nodded. “I had to pose as your grandfather’s trusted aide to your stepmother. Something wasn’t right. Meanwhile, this business was being kept alive by Noah, at least, whenever Mr. Garrett Belmont wasn’t tearing it apart.”

Reginald narrowed his eyes. “Garrett. Of course.” He sighed. “Aside from my stepbrother, who else has been causing problems?”

Almost on cue, a sleek black van pulled up outside. Reginald leaned toward the window. “Who’s that?”

Noah didn’t answer directly. Instead, he said, “Young Master Belmont… I think it’s time we headed to the Vision Room.”

The name had sounded dramatic but when he stepped inside, Reginald understood why it was called the Vision Room.

There were polished chairs lined with a long obsidian table. There was a board lined with sealed documents waiting at the far end. There was a thick folder of contracts. There was a golden pen in a silver holder, a custom stamp, and at the head of the table was one massive, throne-like seat. His seat.

Reginald stood there for a long second before finally taking it. The chair adjusted under his weight like it had been expecting him. And then the doors opened.

Five men in sharp suits entered, their expressions unreadable but their eyes cold.

“So it’s true,” one of them muttered. “The heir Mr. Walker spoke of actually returned. I thought he was just bluffing.”

“Wasn’t this one the fool?” another said, without even lowering his voice. “The one who lost his mind?”

“Exactly. And now you expect us to place our trust and our assets in the hands of an ex-lunatic? Bring back Young Master Garrett.”

Someone else scoffed. “Garrett? That boy’s no better. Spends all day chasing another man’s wife.”

A deeper voice cut in. “Don’t underestimate this one. Before the breakdown, he could do math faster than machines. They used to call him the Belmonts' Mini-God. Now he’s sane again,.and if he still has that brain...?”

Before Reginald could respond, another set of footsteps echoed in. Three more men entered.

They weren’t staff. Reginald was sure of it. There was no uniform, no badge, no polite deference. These weren’t company people, they were either here for business…. or war.

One of the five men who was silent until now, slid into the seat directly across from Reginald. Though the table was long, with what he wore he caught quite the attention.

He wore a shimmering gold suit, crossed his legs with lazy precision, and exhaled as if the entire meeting bored him. He threw a side glance at the other three men who were separated from the other five and rolled his eyes like a king observing peasants squabbling in the dirt.

Then he looked at Reginald.

“So, young man,” he drawled, “I’ll be counting on you this time to award the cargo and ship contracts to my company again. You know, like how Garrett Belmont did it last time and the time before last.”

The calm, almost casual tone made it worse. He didn’t ask. He assumed.

Before Reginald could respond, one of the other three men exploded. He shot to his feet, slamming both palms against the table so hard the documents on it jumped. His face was flushed crimson and his eyes wide with fury. “No! That is not happening again!”

Everyone in the room turned.

He jabbed a finger at the man in gold. “Twice now your company has stolen that contract unjustly! My family has built Belmont ships for seventy years! There’s an oath signed by my father and the late Belmont Sr.. It was a pact that the Macaulay Company alone would provide the ships and cargo containers for Belmont Shipping Lines!”

He stepped back, his chest heaving in anger. “Even the former CEO, the son of the old man, was my friend. That legacy stood firm until that punk Garrett Belmont decided to throw it away. He brought you into the picture and disregarded tradition. He ignored the quality and terms and handed over the deal even when your bidding was laughable.”

He pointed again. “Last time, you escaped justice. This time, you and that spoiled brat Garrett will not be acquitted. And if the Belmonts wish to continue this betrayal… then pay what’s owed. Compensation. As agreed.”

Reginald blinked slowly. A dawning awareness made him tighten his jaw. So that was it.

These men were two rival companies, both tied to the Belmont shipping enterprise.

One was the legacy partner and the other was the flashy newcomer Garrett apparently favored for reasons no one understood.

Reginald’s stomach twisted. Suppressing his disgust, he reached for the file folder in front of him. Noah had made sure it was filled with contracts, history, deals, the buried mess of everything.

Noah turned toward the fuming man. “Mr. Macaulay, you are now in the presence of the actual heir to the Belmont line. If there’s anything left to say, say it now.”

Mr. Macaulay didn’t hesitate.

“It’s all in the file. Documents, photos, the original signed agreement. The Macaulay Ship and Aeronautics Company and Big Belmont Shipping Lines were bound by contract that we would continue building ships for Belmont until the day we couldn’t build anymore. That day hasn’t come. We are still alive and have tenacity.”

He flicked his fingers toward the folder. “And if Belmont breaks that pact for any reason, they’re required to compensate us with fifteen percent shares. That’s there too. But what do we get instead?”

He turned his gaze to the man in the gold suit. “WatsCo. A two-star-rated construction company. Not even on the radar. We saw it on the news that the Belmont awarded them the latest project instead of us, a nine-star-rated. That was a total farce.”

Reginald’s brows pulled together as he flipped a few pages. The signature, the contracts, it was all there. Garrett had handed over everything to this WatsCo without bidding records or justification.

He looked up.

Mr. Watson, the man in the golden suit, smirked. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He tilted his chin, picked at his teeth with his tongue, then locked eyes with Macaulay raising one brow with pure mockery.

Reginald’s hands tightened under the table.

Garrett. Of course it was Garrett. He was the one pulling strings like it was a goddamn game. He was ruining decades of alliances over whatever twisted reason made sense to him that week.

Reginald wanted to punch something… or someone. Preferably the smug man in a gold suit across from him.

But Noah leaned close instead, saying, “Young Master Belmont… you have to say something now. It’ll be your final word on the matter.”

Reginald sat frozen. All eyes in the room turned toward him. This was a battlefield. That’s what it felt like actually.

You, try imagining going to bed as a nineteen-year-old student and waking up as a thirty-year-old executive with the future of a multi-million-dollar empire in your hands.

He glanced around again. Everyone was looking and waiting at him.

He gave an awkward nod, buying time as analyzed.

Fifteen percent shares? That was outrageous. But breaking a legacy deal with zero transition was also reckless.

And WatsCo? Just looking at Mr. Watson made Reginald want to throw the nearest chair at him. He gritted his teeth.

‘Should I say what I really think? Just raw, unfiltered truth? Should I cancel everything and hand Watson a slap instead of a signature?’