Novels by Joe Michael

Alex, who had always been a man of ambition—a strategist in charm, a schemer with the face of a friend. At Richard’s Tech, he’d been known for his smart instincts, his ability to read a room, and his uncanny sense for survival. But now, as the once-mighty company crumbled around him, he was something far more dangerous—a man with knowledge that everyone wanted.He knew where Daniel Reyes was.And for now, that secret was his and rumors around. Richard’s Tech’s near-empty boardroom. The space reeked of desperation. Coffee cups littered in the table, papers were scattered like casualties of war, and the men seated around the table looked more like mourners than executives.Ethan sat silent, his face was like a restrained fury. The empire he had built brick by brick was slipping through his fingers, and every report, every whisper of Summit Global’s triumph, was another twist of the knife.Alex sat two seats away composed, but inside his mind raced.He had been there since dawn, listen

Richard’s Tech that's once the empire of innovation and pride, now drowning like a wounded lion. The halls that once echoed with ambition were now silent, filled only with the failing systems and the panic of those who hadn’t yet fled. Screens flickered with red alerts—missed contracts, canceled investments, and unpaid dues.The company that once led the industry was collapsing under its own weight. And at its heart, sitting in a vast office, that no longer respected his name, Ethan Richard.He looked nothing like the man who once commanded rooms with a fling of his finger. His expensive suit loose on his shoulders; his hair was disheveled, his eyes hollow. There were dark circles under them—signs of nights without sleep and days without peace.Emails went unanswered, phones rang endlessly, and messages from investors piled up on his desk, unopened. Every report was a reminder of failure—missed opportunities, stolen clients, and projects that had vanished overnight.And through it all

The Rise of Summit GlobalThe Summit Global now trending with prosperity and power. In it, phones rang, heels clicked into the floors, and executives darted between meetings with urgency. Investors crowded the lobby like pilgrims seeking blessings at a holy shrine.And at the center of it all was Daniel Reyes. He had done it in the past, with so many companies he had worked with, including Richard's Tech.Everywhere you now look in Summit Global, his fingerprints found. The reorganized schedules that allowed executives to handle twice the load without drowning. The presentations that made clients moved with interest. The smooth handling of calls from investors in time, delivered with the grace of a seasoned diplomat.He wasn’t just the Executive Secretary to the COO anymore. He was the engine running the company’s facade, a force that kept the chaos aligned.On the executive floor, whispers followed his name.“Have you seen the COO’s schedule? Flawless now, thanks to Reyes.”“Reyes ha

The Ruins of Richard TechThe next day, Ethan Richard sat in his office at Richard Tech. The rain tapping the roof top, a drumbeat that mocked him. The city had moved on, indifferent to his suffering, indifferent to the empire that had once been the pride of Richard Tech. Outside, traffic ebbed, people hustling, living, thriving—all except him.The company he had built, that had consumed his life for decades, was bleeding out in plain slight. Each day brought fresh whispers of ruin: investors backing out, suppliers canceling orders, and clients abandoning projects mid-stream. Contracts that had once been celebrated were now irrelevant pages gathering dust. And at the heart of it all, one truth remained unclear: without Daniel Reyes, Richard Tech had no pulse.He sink into his leather chair. The silence of the room was deafening. His phones sat side by side, screens plain, notifications piling up unanswered. His fingers hovered over the devices, but there was no longer any urgency to r

Broken Confessions The noises outside the city seemed louder when Alex walked out, but only because his own vision had dulled. The drizzle that had slicked the pavement earlier had burned off into a glare, that made even the steel sting. But for Alex, the world seemed washed in plain sight. He had rehearsed everything, every sentence, every tilt of his head, every blend of honesty. He had built the scaffolding of a confession so strong he thought nothing could collapse it. And yet, in that conference room, Daniel Reyes had dismantled him with nothing more than a pure refusal. Alex’s shoes clicked the lobby as he left Summit Global, his reflection chasing him in a strong stone. He barely noticed the receptionist’s parting smile of businessmen brushing past him. His head was too full of Daniel’s words—simple, devastating and immovable. I won’t be maneuvered. That sentence played on a loop in his mind, tearing through every built defense. Daniel hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t fal

The RefusalThe conference room was on three sides, to anyone passing by, it looked like an ordinary meeting: two men seated at a table, their hands resting close to their files, their faces arranged in order. But inside, the tension was anything but ordinary. It was taut and weighted with things unsaid, and sharpened by everything both men carried into the room.Alex had imagined this moment for weeks—months, if he was honest with himself. He had thought he would stride in, self-assured, commanding, delivering the words that would bend Daniel’s attention, maybe even his loyalty. But now, face-to-face, Alex felt strangely hollow, like a man who had climbed to the peak of a mountain only to find the air too hut to breathe.Daniel sat opposite him, composed, his tablet sitting beside him, the whole of Summit Global clipped to his suit. His posture was impeccable, not rigid but efficient, the kind of stillness that came from someone who had trained himself never to waste a gesture. His e

The first morning in Brussels was still damp from an overnight rain. The streets wet coffee drifting from cafés. Alexei sat muddy at the window of the Capo’s mansion, staring at the busy streets. The ring, still shining bright, cool in his skin, heavy with secrets he barely understood.Lucien had been awake long before him. The man never seemed to need rest, only strategy. He stood in the room, buttoning his charcoal vest with the same commanding presence he used to signing contracts, his profile outlined by wealth. Yet something about him had shifted.Lucien Devereux was not a man who allowed softness. He had built his empire by stripping tenderness out of himself and crushing it in others. To survive in his orbit, Alexei had learned the language of silence and of obedience. But today, there was something strange in Lucien’s whenever it flicked towards him. Something unspoken. Something dangerous.“Eat,” Lucien ordered without looking directly at him. His voice was commanding as alw

The departure from Vienna began with the arrangements suitcases and the strong coffee filling the hotel suite. Curtains were drawn back to reveal the roofs. Travelers bustled outside, taxis idled by the curb, and the city carried on as though nothing extraordinary had transpired the night before.But for the three men in that room, nothing would ever be ordinary again.Lucien Devereux was uncharacteristically buoyant. He moved with an energy that startled even Henri, who came to deliver tickets and final arrangements. Normally, the Capo began his days with a scowl and a cigarette, but today he sounds under his breath, poured a whiskey instead of coffee, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter.“Vienna has served us well,” Lucien said at last, his eyes fixed on Alexei, who sat at the table, the ring still on his finger. “But Brussels awaits. And in Brussels, boy, the game begins.”Alexei forced a nod. He couldn’t meet Lucien’s desperate eyes for long. The ring still pulsed wi

Lucien’s CalculationsThe days that followed in Vienna seemed ordinary to the outside world: a boy, his uncle, and a foreign businessman enjoying the grandeur of the city. They walked in the statues of Ringstrasse, drank strong coffee in hidden cafés, and visited museums where silent portraits of emperors stared down from a frames. But in this façade was a web of plots, a battle of wits that only the three men understood.Lucien Devereux was the master of calculation. He had not risen to power in Brussels merely by force of brutality—though he wielded that as well. No, Lucien’s genius lay in his foresight, his ability to see the board two, three, sometimes four moves ahead. And here in Vienna, with Alexei at his side and Arjun Singh watching with his eyes, Lucien’s mind ticked like a well-oiled machine.The uncle thought him blind. He believed Lucien was satisfied with the tale—that the Cham could only belong to Alexei, because of his age. But Lucien was not a fool. If the ring’s ench

The Uncle’s PlottingThe next morning, Arjun Singh sat on his room of the modest Viennese guesthouse, his hands folded like an old sage in meditation. Yet his mind was far from peaceful. He stared out at the sweep of the Danube in the early dawn, the mists rising above the water like veils of secrets. His face, aged by wisdom and grief, betrayed little to those who might look upon him. But within him, the fire burning.The evening before, he had read his nephew like an open book. Alexei—so young, so beautiful, so lost in the storms of this world—had spoken in chosen words, describing Lucien Devereux as if the man were some benefactor, some savior of the streets of Brussels. But Arjun saw what was not spoken: the tremor in Alexei’s voice, the way his eyes kept darting towards Lucien for silent approval, the forced smile that never touched his soul.Lucien, for all his composure, had sat like a king disguised in a businessman’s coat. But for Arjun, he recognized the foil in it—the glint

The Meeting of Fire and BlocksMorning in Vienna carried the streamed through the wide hotel, the tables in the lounge are glinting . For most, it was a day to admire the architecture, sip coffee, and stroll the boulevards. But for Alexei, the morning weighed like iron shackles around his ankle.His uncle was coming.Alexei had hardly slept. Each hour of the night had passed with him staring at the painted walls hearing Lucien’s voice through: “Your uncle’s life rests on your loyalty.” And Arjun’s warnings, too: “Men like him save only what they mean to own.”Now both men were about to meet — and Alexei, trapped between them, could already feel the storm building.Arjun Singh arrived with no fanfare. The old man stepped into the hotel lounge in a simple coat, a scarf wound around his neck. His gait was steady, his eyes looking smart. There was no entourage, no gesture to announce importance — only the weight of a man who had lived long, seen much, and learned to wear humility as an ar

Stranded in ViennaThe cold of Vienna hit Alexei first. It wasn’t the winter chill of Belgium, nor the dampness of Brussels’ streets. No — Vienna’s air had a regal boldness, like the city itself demanded straight backs and proud steps. The airport busy with travelers dragging their lives behind them in suitcases.Yet Alexei felt stranded, even in the crowd.He stood by the baggage carousel with his single bag at his feet, Lucien just behind him, scanning the room like a wolf watching for rivals. Lucien wore the same authority here as he did in Brussels — pressed suit, gloved hands, eyes that dared anyone to step into his orbit. The man seemed untouchable, as if Vienna itself had been waiting for him.But Alexei’s chest was hitting. The thought hammered in his ribs: How will I tell Uncle that I am not alone? That I’ve brought Lucien with me?The uncle’s warnings still sounds like scripture: “The third party, Alexei, beware. They will enter between us and tear you away. Power and love d

EpilogueThe Boss's Shop looked nothing like it did when Rico had first walked into its veins, trembling and naïve. Then, the streets had hissed with danger. Sirens had been swallowed by laughter in the alleys, blood had dried on stone before the morning sun could even glance at it. Now, there was peace—or something resembling it.The newspapers carried different headlines. Instead of death counts or whispers of vendettas, they wrote of “Rebirth.” Instead of warnings about underworld reign, they celebrated the return of “Balance.” Markets thrived, cafés stretched their chairs into the streets, and children once again played football under the shadows of glass buildings.Yet inside the fabric of order, silence hummed with another kind of truth: the Boss had won.The public didn’t speak his name anymore—not loudly. But everyone knew whose hand was woven into the system, whose smile hung over the new peace like an unseen guardian. The Boss had defeated rivals, bent laws, charmed official

The city, once strangled by headlines, and endless trials, seemed to be at peace now for the first time in years. The arrests of Kross and Marquez had rippled across every neighborhood and every back alley. Their sentencing—the death penalty—was not only justice delivered but also a warning to anyone who thought themselves untouchable. For decades, those two names had inspired terror. Now, they inspired only silence and fear of a past that people wanted to bury.And in the space left behind, order began to reassert itself.The Boss had won.Not by blood alone, nor by secrecy, but by a mixture of influence, wealth, and uncanny foresight. He had invited the right inspectors, courted the right judges, and made the law itself bend towards his narrative. When Rico’s restructured interview confirmed him as a benevolent figure, as someone who “helped the city where others only destroyed it,” the shift was complete. The underworld no longer operated in shadows; it operated with a strange vene

Chains of ObsessionThe next morning, the reporters gathered in the Boss's mansion like vultures at the end of the walkway, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward. Guards flanked Rico, guiding him past the gauntlet. Their boots struck rhythm against the concrete as though to remind him that freedom wasn’t free—it was borrowed, it was bartered.“Rico! Rico!” voices called.“What do you have to say about justice finally being served?”“Do you regret testifying against Kross and Marquez?”“Do you consider yourself a hero or a traitor?”Rico’s lips parted, but no words came. He had rehearsed speeches in the quiet of his cell—lines about truth, survival and resilience. Yet under the relentless strobe of flashbulbs, everything shriveled. He felt exposed.But then a familiar car pulled up. Black tinted windows glinting like obsidian. The crowd hushed for a moment. They knew whose car it was.The Boss.The door swung open and for the first time, the boss stepped out, his smiling face c

The Boss WonThe next morning, the city was drowning in shadows, gossip, and divided emotions. The news had broken like thunder overnight—Kroos and Marquez were sentenced to death. Rico was set free. And the Boss, the phantom everyone once feared, had emerged not as a villain but as a victor.The reactions came like waves crashing against one another—some furious, some relieved, others simply stunned into silence.On the crowded sidewalks, whispers became shouts. Newspapers sold out within hours, headlines screaming:"CITY CLEANSED: MARQUEZ AND KROOS FACE THE END.""THE BOSS—SAVIOR OR SINNER?""RICO TO WALK FREE."At a bakery in the south district, a group of workers gathered around a radio, flour still dusting their aprons. The announcer’s voice carried through static:> “The trial has ended. Kroos, once painted as a victim, unmasked as an accomplice, has been sentenced alongside Salvatore Marquez. Execution date to be confirmed. Meanwhile, Rico… released. And in an unprecedented mo

Love was a dangerous word in the world Rico had been forced to live in. It had been a weapon, a weakness, a manipulation — and yet, it was also the one truth that kept piercing through layers of lies. And now, in the aftermath of the chaos, whispers of love were reshaping the power balance between the Boss, the police, and Rico himself.The police station was different that week. The hallways were tensed with pressure, like walls pressing inward. Officers, who once paraded Rico as a broken trophy in front of flashing cameras, now moved when his name was mentioned. Their words were guarded, as though they feared unseen ears. The Boss’s influence was no longer a rumor — it was a shadow stretching across desks, reports, and even the lips of the inspectors themselves.But what shocked many wasn’t just his money. It was the whisper passed from officer to officer: the Boss so much loves Rico.Not just ownership, not just convenience — real affection, he's madly in love with Rico from his ti

Money Talks, Truth WalksThe studio lights were blinding.Rico sat in front of the camera again, but this time, he was not the same trembling, broken man who had once spat fire and confessed the underworld’s darkest truths. His face was powdered, his hair combed neatly, his clothes pressed as if he were preparing for a ceremony rather than a trial of conscience.Behind him, the logo of the city’s most prestigious television network glowed on the wall like an authority. The station’s director, a man whose pockets were heavier with bribes than with integrity, stood smiling, while two government officials whispered instructions to the producer.Money had changed the air in the room. Money had twisted reality into a script. Money had turned the man who was once a victim into a witness of convenience.The Boss had done it once again.He hadn’t lifted a gun, hadn’t threatened a soul. Instead, he opened his vault, spilled enough gold across the desks of politicians, judges, and media mogul

EpilogueThe world was not the same after Henry spoke his truth.In Greyhaven, where the streets had once whispered about scandal and exile, children now pointed to Henry’s mansion with wonder rather than suspicion. In Milan, where billionaires once treated him like a prize to be won, his name was now spoken with pride as a man who could bend empires without losing his soul. And in Blue Moon, where wolves once cast him and his mother into shadows, prayers were now offered under the moon for his safety and Harold’s strength.But for Henry, the real change was something else. It was deep in the warmth of his mother’s laughter echoing freely in the hallways. It was in Harold’s hand brushing against his under the dinners. It was in the absence of fear when he walked down Greyhaven’s market street and the butcher no longer whispered “exile” behind his back.The days after his interview passed into a storm of headlines. Governments convened emergency meetings about “wolf integration.” Some

The world had barely recovered from Evelyn’s interview when news broke that her son, Henry, had agreed to his own. If Evelyn’s words had shaken the foundations of the whole of Greyhaven, Henry’s would ignite the flames of speculation, passion, and controversy that had been smoldering for months.The press was ravenous. The Greyhaven Daily Press, international business networks, supernatural journals, and even gossip outlets demanded his attention. In the end, Henry chose a single stage—Global Voice Network, a media house that broadcast worldwide and carried weight both among humans and wolves.The studio was immaculate. White lights framed the stage like a halo. Henry sat in a navy suit, his posture elegant but determined. He exuded a kind of poised magnetism, not just the beauty of a young man but the authority of someone who had lived through fire and emerged with purpose.In his front, another interviewer sat, a respected journalist known for her fairness and incisive questioning.

The next morning, the cameras were already in place when Evelyn entered the studio of Greyhaven Daily Press. She walked with the grace of a woman who had endured storms and emerged, not untouched, but stronger for them. The producers had expected a nervous widow, perhaps overwhelmed by the sudden spotlight her son’s success had cast upon their family. Instead, they were greeted by a woman whose dignity commanded the room without effort.The anchor rose from his seat as Evelyn approached. “Mrs. Evelyn,” he greeted, extending a hand. “It’s an honor to have you here.”Evelyn smiled, taking his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hale. Please, call me Evelyn.”The set was bright, framed with banners that read Wolves Among Us: Fact, Fear, or Future? The subject had been whispered about for generations in Greyhaven, but Henry’s meteoric rise, coupled with rumors of his connection to Harold Walker and the mysterious Blue Moon pack, had forced the discussion into the open.Victor gestured for her to take h

The rain had fallen throughout the night in Greyhaven, washing the streets clean and leaving behind a morning wrapped in mist. From the balcony of their house, Henry could see the city blinking awake, headlights crawling along the wet asphalt, office towers shimmering the dawn. The world looked fresh and reborn.Yet inside Harold Walker’s heart, the weight of the memory is heavy.He sat in his chair, an open book resting in his lap though he wasn’t reading it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the fire that snapped and hissed in the hearth, brighten the whole walls. His thoughts were not on the present, but on the past—on faces that no longer smiled at him, on voices that had once sworn loyalty only to twist into betrayal.Henry entered the office, carrying two mugs of coffee. His instincts told him Harold was lost in reverie, and he placed the mugs on the desk before sitting in front him.“You’re brooding again,” Henry teased, sitting his cup down.Harold’s eyes shifted, softening when

Harold Walker stood in silence, watching the city stir awake in him. The sight should have been routine—another day, another set of meetings, another endless list of responsibilities—but something inside him thrummed with a sense of completion.He turned, and his eyes landed on a framed photograph sitting on his desk. It had been taken just weeks ago at the gala: Henry in a black suit, Evelyn smiling beside him, and Harold himself standing proudly at their side. He traced a finger in the glass, his heart swelling with pride.How close he had come to losing everything—his company, his faith, and perhaps most of all, the chance to love Henry openly. And yet here they were, stronger than ever.His thoughts drifted back to Milan. The conference that had shaken industries, the battlefield of billionaires who had come prepared to devour Henry whole, only to leave whispering his name with awe. It was Harold’s decision to trust him—to give him the responsibility, the spotlight—that had made

The Greyhaven where whispers of exile and betrayal had colored the city’s gossip before, now the name Harold’s Interpress dominated every conversation, every headline, every digital feed. Yet even more remarkable than the company’s rise was the figure at its heart—Henry.It was no longer just Harold Walker’s company. Though Harold remained its Alpha in spirit, it was Henry’s fingerprints that were everywhere: in the vision, in the policies, in the way the corporation breathed. Reporters wrote of him as if he were some kind of phenomenon—“the exiled wolf who rewrote the destiny of Greyhaven’s economy.” Business journals chronicled his innovations with awe. Rivals wanted to know his strategies, trying to decipher how a young man, once discarded by his own pack, could now sit at the top of one of the most formidable enterprises in the world.Henry, for his part, bore it with humility. He remembered too clearly what it felt like to be voiceless, powerless, unseen. That memory guided every