Chapter Nineteen-The Old Guard

The Specter’s Chamber

Qye walked in calm, calculated steps towards a separate, heavily protected estate belonging to one of the few men who commanded enough respect and fear to host a simultaneous war council for both the Jager and MTP Clan.

“Boss” Qye bowed in respect.

The Specter was a retired giant of the old world, a legendary figure whose influence extended deep into the city's power structures, and who had often served as an unofficial mediator and occasionally, an executioner for the Mafia’s elite. He's an old man who still has the gay eyes of one who is still interested in war if war comes to him.

His study was not opulent like Nepher Jager’s, but immense, lined entirely with dark, unpolished steel. He sat behind a massive, raw slab of obsidian, looking more like an immovable monument than a man. He was huge, his bulk straining the fabric of his dark suit.

Jerry, MTP's trembling envoy, stood stiffly near the door, having delivered his message. Qye was already there, standing silently by the window. The Specter looked first at Jerry, then at Qye, his voice a slow, deep rumble that seemed to vibrate the floor.

“So, Metropaul sends his most disposable dog to carry a message to my house” The Specter began, fixing his cold gaze on Jerry. “And the message is 'I want you to help me invade the house of the man who beat my favorite daughter.' Is that correct, Jerry?”

Jerry swallowed hard. “Sir, MTP requests your strategic counsel to bypass Jager's defenses specifically, the new digital security on Lot 27. He requires an unsuspecting vector for deep penetration.”

The Specter let out a short, harsh laugh that echoed in the room that looked more like an ancient throne room. “Unsuspecting vector. MTP always liked the theatrics. He used to come here himself, once. Now he sends you, shaking like a poorly set gel.”

He shifted his immense focus to Qye.

“And you, Qye. Khaid’s enemy's dog barks at the door. I assume your purpose is to ensure he gets no more than the stale air he already breathes?”

Qye maintained her silent, ramrod-straight posture. “My purpose is to observe, Boss. And to neutralize any threat to the Specter dynasty as commanded by you.”

The Specter smiled, a slow, bemused and proud smile. It was obvious he was pleased with Qye’s vocal allegiance. “You always know the right words to say Qye, don't you?”

“The Jager Dynasty” he sighed, the words heavy with subtle derogatory comments. “Nepher's little empire. Built on old debts and bad wine, now run by a boy who prefers satellites to blood on his hands. And Metropaul, who hides in his panic room, forgetting that respect is earned daily, not stored in a dusty safe.”

He picked up a piece of antique silver. A heavy, beautiful paperweight, and tapped it lightly on the table, turning his full, intimidating attention back to Jerry.

“Boy” MetroPaul yelled at Jerry suddenly. Jerry's heart palpitated in sheer fear and he bowed deeply. “Tell Metropaul that I will offer no direct counsel to invade Jager's home. My hand is neutral. However” he paused, his eyes gleaming with malicious calculation, “Jager's fortress has a weakness Metropaul will never consider. The most secure fortresses always fall from the inside. They fall when the king introduces a piece to the board he cannot fully control.”

Jerry nodded, rapidly absorbing the veiled instruction. He was utterly confused but he still continued to nod like an agama lizard.

The Specter then looked to Qye, his eyes now cold with challenge. He pointed the silver paperweight at her.

“The war is escalating, Qye. I do not know if MTP is the innocent one here. I do not even want to know. But he came, sending his puppet to us first. We are lawyers of the Mafia world. We are the judiciary. And what's our motto again?”

“My client must not die in the hands of conspiracy. My client is right. He who asserts first, proves right”

The Specter then performed a symbolic, powerful gesture. He extended his large, scarred hand, offering Qye the silver paperweight. “Nicholas' house is not a child's play. At the toddler age he still is, I can say he's a tech guru. With all what he's doing in the Niche group of companies and the diverse securities there. It is only proper that you expect a tighter security. We don't know if his guards are robots or something more obscure but one thing we know is that, no one ever breached his territory and came out breathing. Come here”

Qye did not hesitate. She took two steps forward, smoothly dropping to one knee before the massive boss, a mark of deep respect for his power and the weight of the task.

“Consider it done, Specter. I am a shadow in the shadow. He won't know what hit him from the inside”

Qye rose, retrieved the message from Jerry, and turned to leave. The Specter watched her go, a slow, satisfied smile returning to his face. The old guard was testing the new King, and the stakes were the survival of the Jager dynasty.

“What's your name?” Specter motioned to Jerry in a condescending gaze.

“Jerry sir”

“MTP still keeps weak beings beside him in this century” Specter shook his head. “Tell Paul to see me as soon as possible. Now leave”

“Okay sir” Without hesitation, he scurried out like a drenched kitten.

★

Arrival in Geneva

The journey was a blur of sterile white rooms and low, constant monitoring beeps. Bensjasmin sat beside her mother, who was stabilized but fluctuating in and out of consciousness during the long, complex airlift to Geneva. Every bump, every moment of turbulence, sent a fresh spike of terror through Bensjasmin.

Upon landing, they were immediately whisked away to the renowned surgical clinic. The building was quiet, efficient, and filled with a calm sense of professional purpose that contrasted sharply with the chaotic energy of the hospital back in Belg City. More like the hospital she could afford back in Belg City.

Bensjasmin efficiently handled the transfer papers, a dense stack of medical history and financial agreements. The sheer cost was terrifying, but the funding was a desperate, anonymous wire transfer she didn't question which had secured her mother's spot. She vowed to make findings about the anonymous person who is paying for her mother's surgery when she gets back to Belg City. For what it's worth, that person is a life saver.

Within the hour, she was seated across a sleek glass desk from Dr. Alistair Voss, the lead neurosurgeon. Dr. Voss was not the distant, cold figure she expected, but a man in his late fifties with kind, tired eyes and an air of intense, focused competence. He was the one who had pioneered the radical research treatment for her mother's rare brain tumor.

He held a glowing digital scan of her mother's brain, rotating the image on the screen.

“Miss Bensjasmin, thank you for making this journey. My name is Dr. Voss” Dr. Voss said, his voice quiet and precise, carrying a faint European accent.“Your mother's case is highly complex, but we have reached an optimal stabilization point.”

Bensjasmin gripped the edges of her chair.

“The success rate, Doctor. Just tell me the number.”

“I like your enthusiasm” Dr. Voss looked her straight in the eye, offering no false comfort. “The surgery we are proposing is aggressive. It requires navigating delicate neurological pathways that control basic functions. Given her current condition and the size of the tumor, we estimate a seventy percent success rate for full removal and functional recovery.”

“Seventy percent. The number felt both terrifyingly low and miraculously high. Thirty percent chance of failure. Thirty percent chance that this entire, painful, life-altering trip would end in tragedy.” Bensjasmin got lost in thought.

“That also means” Dr. Voss continued gently, “there is a significant risk of complication, including permanent neurological damage, or worse, during the procedure.”

Bensjasmin closed her eyes for a brief moment, the exhaustion of two years of constant worry crashing over her. Bensjasmin realized her own war was equally desperate, fought on a different battlefield. She opened her eyes, meeting the doctor's gaze with a fierce, unwavering resolve. She was drained, but finally resolute.

“Doctor,’ Bensjasmin stated, her voice steady and clear, carrying the weight of the only child left to care. “That seventy percent is the best number we have been given in two years. I've spent too long watching her die slowly. We are here now. We are ready.” She leaned forward, her conviction absolute. “I am willing to try. If it ends badly, I know I've done everything humanly possible to save her.”

Dr. Voss nodded slowly, a flicker of respect in his kind eyes. “Then we begin preparations immediately. We will schedule the procedure for tomorrow morning.”

Bensjasmin stood up, the weight of the decision settling heavily on her shoulders, but carrying with it the light burden of hope. She had faced her fear, and now she would fight. As she got out of the doctor's office, her phone vibrated, signaling an incoming message. Bluey's name with a love emoji flashed on the screen. Bensjasmin stood on a spot and tears welled in her eyes. “I am fighting a battle I always downplay to feel cool. I am tired. It is hard… It is hard” She muttered.

Quickly, she wiped the tears cascading down her cheeks and picked the call. Her answer to Bluey's question was. “I am fine”