Chapter 6 - The Lion’s Den
The grand ballroom of the St. Regis was filled with the elite of the city’s commercial development sector. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, reflecting in the flutes of champagne held by politicians, bankers, and high-stakes contractors.
Troy stood near the center ice sculpture, holding court. He had dressed in his sharpest bespoke navy suit, sporting a polished Rolex that Darius knew had been purchased with Vanguard’s expense account. By his side, looking pale and noticeably uneasy in an emerald evening gown, was Angela.
Troy was leaning in close to Councilman Vance, the head of the municipal planning committee. “It’s tragic, really,” Troy was saying, his voice laced with practiced sorrow. “Darius pushed himself too hard. The complications from the abdominal surgery were severe. We’re praying for his recovery, but Vanguard cannot afford to pause the West River project. I’m stepping in as acting CEO to ensure seamless execution.”
Councilman Vance nodded thoughtfully, swirling his bourbon. “Darius is a brilliant builder, Troy, but city contracts require stability. If he’s incapacitated, we’ll need to reassign the lead administrative oversight to your sole signature.”
“I’m prepared to sign tonight, Councilman,” Troy said smoothly, flashing a confident smile.
Angela shifted beside him, her gaze darting toward the ballroom entrance. “Troy, are you sure about this? What if he finds out?”
“He’s at a hotel drugged on painkillers, Angela,” Troy whispered through clenched teeth, his smile never wavering for the crowd. “By the time he figures out what happened, the council contract will be locked under my division. You wanted security, didn’t you? You wanted a man who takes what he wants instead of living in a ditch? Then shut up and smile.”
The double doors at the back of the ballroom swung open.
The room didn’t go quiet immediately, but a ripple of murmurs began near the entrance and moved inward like a wave.
Darius stepped into the light.
He wore a tailored charcoal three-piece suit that masked the medical brace around his midriff. His hair was neat, his posture erect, his dark eyes sharp and utterly focused. Beside him walked Victor Osi, carrying a sleek black leather portfolio.
Darius looked neither sick nor tired. He looked like an emperor inspecting his court.
Troy’s champagne glass tilted slightly, spilling a few drops onto the polished marble. Angela let out a faint, strangled gasp, instinctively taking half a step backward, away from Troy.
Darius didn’t rush. He walked through the crowd with measured, effortless authority. Colleagues parted to let him pass, several offering congratulations on his rapid recovery, which he acknowledged with polite, quiet nods.
He stopped three feet from Troy and Councilman Vance.
“Good evening, Councilman,” Darius said, extending a steady hand. “I trust Troy hasn’t been boring you with exaggerated reports of my demise.”
Vance shook Darius’s hand, visibly surprised. “Darius! Good heavens, man! We were told you were confined to bed with post-op infections!”
“I had a minor procedure, Councilman,” Darius said, turning his gaze slowly toward Troy. “The only infection I’ve had to cut out recently was an internal bookkeeping anomaly.”
Troy’s jaw twitched. “Darius... what are you doing here? You should be resting.”
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“I rest when the foundation is secure, Troy,” Darius said, his voice carrying clearly to the surrounding circle of influential developers. “And right now, our foundation has a two-million-dollar structural crack.”
***
