Twenty Two

Fidelia knew she couldn’t waste today.

This was one of those days — the kind that could change everything. The coin she had invested in was about to skyrocket, and if she timed it right, her gains could fund every plan that came next.

She had done all the planning. All the calculations. She just needed to stay sharp when the window opened.

So she set an alarm for twenty minutes before launch, shut her laptop, and lay down for a nap. She hadn’t rested all night, and now that the ground was finally shifting beneath George’s feet, she deserved at least an hour of peace.

Twenty minutes later, her alarm buzzed softly. Fidelia stirred, eyes fluttering open. She sat up, stretched, and reached for her phone.

The price was already climbing.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face as she watched her profit rise in real time.

“Nice,” she whispered. “Very nice.”

………

Meanwhile, at the office, Andrian stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his apartment, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit with precise movements. His eyes were cold, sharp, and utterly focused.

Today wasn’t about subtlety.

Today was about leverage.

He left the apartment, drove straight to the office, and walked in like he already owned the building. Because after today, he just might.

He took the elevator to the top floor, called his assistant, and gave a single instruction:

“Bring George to me. Now.”

George walked into the office with the smug confidence of a man who thought he had already won.

“You called me in like some rookie,” he said, dropping into the seat across from Andrian without being invited. “Let me guess — you’re going to beg me to back down? If so, don’t waste your breath.”

Andrian leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered.

George scoffed. “You think I’m joking? By nightfall, that deal will be sealed. Your precious Fidelia who thinks you are worth something will see u lose everything. And when she does—”

Andrian cut him off, sliding a thick manila folder across the polished desk.

“Take a look.”

George frowned, thrown off by Andrian’s calm demeanor. He opened the folder.

At first, nothing. Then his expression changed — eyes narrowing, hands tightening on the papers. Inside were forged receipts, shell company registrations, embezzlement trails, and — most damning of all — documents bearing George’s own digital signature.

Proof.

His throat went dry. “W-Where did you get this?”

Andrian stood slowly, circling the desk like a predator. “You left a trail, George. You are not so perfect anymore are you? I only simply followed it.”

“No no you can’t prove—”

“I can prove every single thing ,” Andrian said quietly, voice low and dangerous. “This copy stays with me. The original? Let’s just say a friend of mine in the finance ministry is keeping it very safe… just in case something unfortunate happens to me.”

George’s face drained of all color.

“If you want to walk out of this building with your reputation and freedom intact,” Andrian continued, “you’ll withdraw from the deal quietly without noise or press. Just walk away and disappear.”

“And if I don’t?”

Andrian leaned in close, eyes ice-cold. “Then by tomorrow morning, your name will be on every business journal in the country — as a fraud, a thief, and few minutes later you will be criminal.”

George stood, fists clenched, face twisted with rage. “This isn’t over.”

“No,” Andrian replied calmly. “For you, it just might be.”

George stormed out of the office, seething.

Andrian didn’t care. He stepped out after him, unbothered.

His phone buzzed just as he reached the parking lot. He glanced at the screen.

‘Grandmother.’

He sighed and answered.

“Andrian,” her voice came through — calm and firm as always. “Come home. I want to speak with you.”

He didn’t ask questions.

“Fine. I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he said, and hung up.