rise of the underdog

art of war

# Chapter 3: The Art of War

The morning sun painted Manhattan in shades of gold and glass, but Alex had been awake for hours.

He stood in his study at 5:47 AM, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that cost more than most people's monthly salary—though Victoria had never asked where he shopped or how he afforded his impeccable wardrobe. She'd simply assumed he was good with money, or perhaps that the clothes were clever knockoffs.

The irony almost made him smile.

His laptop displayed three separate screens: stock portfolios, real estate holdings, and a detailed dossier on Morrison Holdings that would make corporate espionage specialists proud. But it was the fourth screen that held his attention—surveillance footage from the Carlisle Hotel.

"Interesting viewing?"

Alex didn't turn around as Elena entered his study, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. His sister moved like a predator in Louboutins, all controlled grace and lethal intelligence.

"Educational," he replied, closing the laptop. "You're up early for someone who was supposedly in court until midnight."

"I caught the red-eye from Los Angeles. The Morrison case files you requested made for fascinating airplane reading." Elena set a leather briefcase on his desk with the weight of someone handling ammunition. "David Morrison Jr. is not nearly as clean as his public image suggests."

"Oh?"

Elena's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Three sexual harassment settlements in the past five years, all buried under NDAs. Two paternity suits that mysteriously disappeared. And a cocaine possession charge from his Harvard days that was expunged after daddy wrote a very large check to the Boston Children's Hospital."

Alex absorbed this information without expression, filing it away for future use. "Victoria doesn't know any of this."

"Victoria doesn't want to know any of this. There's a difference." Elena perched on the edge of his desk, studying her brother's face. "Alex, are you sure about this path? Once you start, there's no going back to playing house."

"I'm done playing house."

"Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, you look like a man who's still hoping his wife will come to her senses."

Alex finally turned from the window, and Elena saw something in his eyes that made her sit back slightly. The patient, loving husband was gone. In his place sat a predator who'd finally decided to hunt.

"Victoria made her choice the moment she started taking David Morrison's calls. I'm simply going to help her live with the consequences."

His phone buzzed—Victoria's morning text routine. *Running late, don't wait for breakfast. Have meetings all day. Won't be home until late.*

"Let me guess," Elena said, reading over his shoulder. "She's suddenly very busy with work."

"Apparently." Alex typed back: *No problem. I have meetings today too. Don't wait up.*

But instead of sending it, he deleted the message and typed something else: *Have a wonderful day, darling. I love you.*

Elena raised an eyebrow. "Feeling sentimental?"

"Strategic." Alex pocketed his phone. "Sun Tzu said to appear weak when you are strong. Victoria expects the devoted husband who texts love messages and waits patiently at home. So that's what she'll get—until she doesn't."

"And what happens when she doesn't?"

Alex's smile was cold as winter. "She learns that some games have rules she never knew existed."

The bedroom door opened down the hall, followed by the rapid click of Victoria's heels. She appeared in the doorway moments later, stunning in a red power suit that hugged her curves perfectly. Her makeup was flawless, her hair swept into a sophisticated chignon that probably took an hour to perfect.

She stopped short when she saw Elena.

"Oh. Elena. I didn't know you were... visiting."

"Business trip," Elena replied smoothly, not bothering to stand. "Just flew in from the West Coast."

Victoria's smile was polite but strained. She'd never quite known what to make of Alex's sister—the brilliant attorney who spoke four languages and had never once complimented Victoria's appearance or asked about her career. Unlike Alex's endlessly patient accommodations, Elena treated Victoria with the cool professionalism reserved for opposing counsel.

"Well, I'm sure you two have lots to catch up on." Victoria moved to Alex, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. The gesture looked natural, loving even, but Alex caught the slight hesitation, the way her eyes didn't quite meet his. "I really do have to run. The Morrison account is keeping me incredibly busy."

"I'm sure it is." Alex's voice was warm, loving—the perfect devoted husband. "Don't work too hard, darling."

Something flickered in Victoria's expression—guilt, perhaps, or surprise at his continued gentleness when she'd been expecting questions or suspicion. For just a moment, she looked like the woman he'd married three years ago.

"I... I love you too," she said softly.

Then she was gone, her heels echoing down the hallway until the front door closed behind her.

Elena whistled low. "She's good. I almost believed that performance."

"So did I, once." Alex moved to his desk, opening the laptop again. "But performance is all it was. Watch."

He pulled up the security feed from their building's parking garage. At 8:23 AM, Victoria emerged from the elevator and walked to her BMW. But instead of driving toward her office in Midtown, she headed downtown—toward the financial district where Morrison Holdings maintained their corporate headquarters.

"Meeting at Morrison Holdings," Elena observed. "Could be legitimate business."

Alex switched to another screen—traffic cameras he'd gained access to through connections Victoria would never suspect he had. They watched her BMW pull into the parking garage of the Carlisle Hotel at 8:47 AM.

"Could be," Alex agreed. "Except Morrison Holdings is fifteen blocks north, and the Carlisle Hotel isn't exactly known for business meetings."

Elena leaned forward, studying the timestamp. "Alex—"

"She's been meeting him there twice a week for the past month. Always the same pattern: fake business excuse, drive to the office building, then slip away to the hotel." His voice was conversational, as if discussing the weather. "Yesterday's call was to confirm they'd meet there after her 'late meetings' tonight."

"How long have you known?"

"Suspected for six weeks. Confirmed for three." Alex closed the laptop and straightened his tie. "I hired private investigators the day after she started working late every Tuesday and Thursday. Very discreet, very thorough. Elena, did you bring the documents I requested?"

His sister opened her briefcase and withdrew a thick manila folder. "Divorce papers, pre-nup analysis, asset protection strategies, and custody agreements for any future children. Though given what we know about Morrison's track record, she might want to be careful about that last part."

Alex took the folder but didn't open it. "And the other thing?"

Elena's smile turned predatory. "Morrison Holdings stock analysis, debt structure, and a very interesting report on their recent shipping losses in the Pacific. It seems they've been hemorrhaging money on routes that compete directly with Chen Empire subsidiaries."

"Interesting coincidence."

"Isn't it? Almost like someone's been systematically undercutting their bids, poaching their contracts, and convincing their major clients to switch providers." Elena stood, smoothing her skirt. "Of course, that someone would have to have significant resources and industry connections to pull off something so sophisticated."

"Significant resources indeed." Alex slipped the folder into his briefcase. "Thank you for your help, Elena. Both legal and... otherwise."

"What are little sisters for?" She paused at the door. "Alex? Are you going to tell her who you really are before this gets ugly?"

Alex considered the question, thinking of Victoria's fingers intertwined with Morrison's, her dismissive laughter at dinner parties, the casual cruelty she allowed her family to heap on him.

"No," he said finally. "Victoria fell in love with the idea of marrying up, of finding a successful man who could give her the life she thought she deserved. Let her have him. Let her have exactly what she thinks she wants."

"And when she finds out Morrison isn't who she thinks he is either?"

"Then she'll learn that sometimes you get exactly what you deserve, not what you want."

After Elena left, Alex spent the morning at his real office—not the modest space Victoria had visited once and found "charming in a struggling startup way," but the executive suite on the forty-second floor of the Chen Building. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a commanding view of the Hudson River, while the décor spoke of understated wealth and absolute power.

His assistant, James Wu, briefed him on the morning's developments with military precision.

"Morrison Holdings lost another shipping contract this morning—the Henderson Group decided to go with Pacific Crown Industries instead."

Alex nodded. Pacific Crown was a Chen Empire subsidiary, though the connection was buried under layers of holding companies and shell corporations. "Terms?"

"Thirty percent below Morrison's bid, but twice the service reliability. Henderson's CFO said it wasn't even a difficult decision."

"Excellent. What else?"

"Your wife's credit card activity shows charges at La Bernardin yesterday afternoon—$347 for lunch for two. The Carlisle Hotel spa—$800 for couples massage packages. And Tiffany & Co.—$15,000 for what appears to be a men's watch."

Alex's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened slightly on his coffee cup. Victoria hadn't bought him a gift in over a year, claiming they needed to watch their spending. Yet she was dropping fifteen thousand dollars on jewelry for another man.

"Continue monitoring but don't interfere. I want a complete record of her spending patterns."

"Of course, sir. Also, your grandfather called. He'd like you to join him for lunch today at the Union Club."

The Union Club—where Manhattan's most powerful men gathered to make deals that shaped the world. Alex hadn't set foot in that hallowed space in three years, maintaining his cover as the struggling marketing coordinator who definitely wouldn't belong among titans of industry.

"Tell him I'll be there at one."

"Sir? Should I have the driver bring the Bentley?"

Alex considered this. The Bentley would certainly make a statement, but not the one he wanted to make. Not yet.

"No. I'll take the subway."

James blinked, clearly confused by the idea of his billionaire boss taking public transportation to lunch with one of the most powerful men in America.

"The subway, sir?"

"One last performance," Alex explained. "After today, I suspect I won't need to pretend anymore."

At 12:30 PM, Alex descended into the controlled chaos of the Manhattan subway system. He'd grown oddly fond of the underground journey during his three years of playing ordinary—the anonymity, the democracy of shared discomfort, the reminder that most of the world operated far from the rarified air of penthouses and private jets.

His phone buzzed with a message from Victoria: *Lunch running long, won't be back to office until 3. Hope your day is going well!*

Alex smiled and typed back: *Take your time, darling. Enjoy your meeting.*

But as the subway car rocked toward his destination, Alex was already calculating. By 3 PM, Morrison Holdings would receive some very interesting financial reports that would make their board question David Morrison Jr.'s judgment. By 5 PM, those reports would somehow find their way to key financial journalists who specialized in corporate exposés.

And by 7 PM, when Victoria was supposed to be having "late meetings" but was actually checking into the Carlisle Hotel, David Morrison would be dealing with the first wave of what was about to become a very public scandal.

The train pulled into Grand Central, and Alex emerged into the afternoon sunlight like a predator finally ready to hunt.

Phase one of his plan was complete: he'd given Victoria enough rope to hang herself.

Phase two was about to begin: teaching her that some ropes were designed to be nooses.

His grandfather was waiting at the Union Club with the patience of a man who'd spent eighty years learning that the best strategies took time to develop.

"Alexander," Chen Wei-Ming said, rising from his leather armchair. "You look... different."

"Do I?"

"Like a man who's finally decided to stop playing games."

Alex accepted a glass of thirty-year-old scotch and settled into the chair across from the most powerful man he knew. "I've decided to start playing different games, Grandfather. Games with rules Victoria never learned."

"And the boy? Morrison?"

"Will learn them very quickly." Alex raised his glass. "To education."

Chen Wei-Ming's answering smile was sharp as a blade. "To justice."

Outside the Union Club's windows, Manhattan hummed with the energy of eight million people pursuing their dreams, their ambitions, their carefully constructed lies.

But on the forty-second floor of the Chen Building, and in a hotel room across town where his wife was betraying their marriage vows, Alex Chen was about to remind everyone that some dreams came with a price.

And some prices were higher than anyone expected to pay.