4 - CHESS PLAYER

Levi spent the rest of the weekend hiding in his wing of the estate after our ride in the limo. I didn't see him once. He just locked his doors and let the staff slide trays of food into his office, pretending I didn't exist.

Now it was Monday morning, and I was standing in the massive kitchen pouring black coffee into a mug.

The house was dead quiet. I took a sip of the coffee and turned around just as my mother walked into the room. She was wearing a silk robe and holding a tablet, looking like she had been awake for hours plotting her next social move.

"You need to wear the blue tie," Helene said without looking up from her screen.

"I'm not wearing a tie."

She finally looked at me and sighed. "Dante, please. It is your first day at Cross Industries. You need to look like you belong there."

"I don't belong there. Harlan forced me into this job so he could keep an eye on me."

"Harlan gave you an opportunity," she corrected sharply. "Do not throw it away just because you want to be stubborn. You have a seat at the table now. All you have to do is play nice."

I took another sip of coffee. "Play nice with who?"

"With Levi." She walked over and lowered her voice even though the kitchen was empty. "He is the heir. He controls the board right now. Just nod, agree with his strategies, and let him think you are learning from him."

"I'm not going to sit there and kiss his ass."

"I am not asking you to kiss his ass. I am asking you to survive." Helene grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my sleeve. "If you embarrass Levi in front of the executives today, he will make it his personal mission to destroy you. Just keep your head down."

I pulled my arm away from her. "I don't do well with keeping my head down."

"Dante—"

"I'll see you later, Mom."

I walked out of the kitchen before she could start another lecture. I didn't care about playing the obedient stepbrother. If Levi wanted a war, he was going to get one.

I drove my car to the corporate headquarters downtown. The lobby was all marble and glass, filled with people in expensive gray suits moving around like ants. I checked in at the front desk, got my executive badge, and took the private elevator up to the top floor.

The assistant sitting outside the boardroom gave me a tight, professional smile before she pushed the glass doors open for me.

I walked inside.

The executive board was already seated around a massive mahogany table. There were about twelve of them, mostly older men and women who looked like they lived and breathed stock options.

Levi was sitting right at the head of the table.

He looked perfect. He was wearing a sharp charcoal suit with a silver tie, and his hair was slicked back neatly. There was no trace of the guy I had shoved against the window of the limo on Saturday night. He just looked like a cold, calculating machine.

"Ah, Dante," Levi said. His voice was smooth and polite, projecting easily across the quiet room. "You finally made it."

I checked my watch. "It's exactly nine o'clock."

"We usually start pre-briefings at eight-forty-five," he replied. "But we can adjust for your learning curve. Have a seat."

He gestured to the only empty chair left in the room. It was right across from him at the opposite end of the long table. He wanted me far away, positioned exactly where everyone could stare at me.

I pulled the chair out and sat down.

"Before we move into the quarterly projections, I want to bring you up to speed," Levi said.

He picked up a thick, heavy folder from his stack of papers. He slid it across the polished wood of the table. It glided perfectly and stopped right in front of my hands.

"That is the current data for our European shipping routes," Levi explained. "Since you are the new VP of Operations, I thought it would be best for you to dive right in. Take a look and tell the board how you plan to fix the deficit."

A few of the executives shifted in their seats. The older guy sitting to my left smirked a little.

It was a trap.

Levi was handing me a failing logistics file on my first morning. He expected me to open the folder, stare at a hundred pages of numbers I didn't understand, and stutter my way through a response. He wanted to prove to the board that I was just the dumb muscle his father hired out of pity.

I didn't even touch the folder.

I reached into my jacket, pulled out my own tablet, and set it flat on the table.

"I don't need to read the file," I said. "I pulled the backend data from the server last night."

Levi raised an eyebrow. "You accessed the server?"

"I'm the VP of Operations. I have the clearance." I tapped the screen of my tablet, bringing up my notes. "And you don't need a new plan to fix the deficit. You just need to stop micromanaging the transit lines."

The room went dead silent. The guy sitting next to me stopped smiling.

Levi leaned back in his chair. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I said, looking right down the length of the table at him. "Your strategy for the European routes is bleeding cash. You routed all the cargo ships through two extra ports in Spain just to avoid a minor import tax."

"It is a strategic tax bypass," Levi said smoothly. "It saves the company millions."

"It saves money on paper," I corrected him. "But you didn't factor in the current cost of maritime fuel. Adding those two extra stops burns more fuel than the tax penalty would have cost us in the first place. You are losing four percent on every single shipment just to avoid paying a tariff."

Someone coughed near the middle of the table. A woman with short gray hair flipped her own folder open, hastily checking the numbers I just dropped.

"He's right," she murmured to the man sitting next to her. "The fuel costs offset the tax savings."

Levi's jaw locked tight. I saw his fingers grip the edge of the table.

"The strategy was approved by risk management," Levi said, keeping his voice painfully even.

"Then fire your risk manager," I fired back. "Because it's a terrible strategy. If we cut the Spanish ports and pay the direct tariff in France, transit time drops by three days. Faster turnaround means we can fit two extra shipping cycles into the quarter. We cover the tax and turn a profit by November."

The older guy sitting next to me let out a low whistle. "That's a solid pivot."

"It's basic operations," I said, keeping my eyes locked on Levi. "You just have to look at the boats instead of the spreadsheets."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the executives. They were actually buying it. They realized I wasn't just some idiot kid playing dress-up in a suit. I actually knew what I was talking about.

Levi realized it too.

His corporate mask didn't slip, but his eyes turned pitch black. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, charged with that same sharp scent of rain and cedar that I smelled on the porch this weekend.

He stared at me for three long seconds.

"Thank you for that insight, Dante," Levi said quietly.

He didn't argue with me. He didn't try to defend the fuel costs. He just stood up from his chair and buttoned his suit jacket.

"We are going to take a fifteen-minute recess," Levi announced to the room.

The executives immediately grabbed their coffees and stood up. They knew better than to stick around when the tension got this bad. They filed out of the room quickly, muttering to each other in low voices.

I stayed in my chair, tapping my fingers lightly against the edge of my tablet.

The last board member walked out into the hallway. The glass doors slid shut behind them, sealing the room and cutting off the noise from the outer office.

We were completely alone.

Levi didn't sit back down. He braced his hands flat on the mahogany table and leaned forward, his voice dropping low enough that the microphones couldn't pick it up.

"Don't move," Levi told me.