Chapter 155. Anton Strikes Back

The Rogers Industries boardroom in London, known as the "Ice Gallery" for its forty-foot wall of glacial-green Italian marble and temperature-controlled chill, had never felt so much like a coliseum. Anton had not waited for a scheduled meeting. He had summoned them with a terse, global command: Emergency session. One hour. Physical attendance is mandatory. He wanted them in the room, under his eye, where they couldn't hide behind screens or curated silence.

Sabatine stood in Anton's private antechamber, looking through the one-way glass that formed a section of the boardroom wall. He was dressed not in tactical gear, but in a severe, impeccably tailored black suit Leon had procured. It felt like armour. The title Anton had bestowed—Acting Head of Global Security—was a live wire in his pocket. He watched as the board members filed in, their faces a study in forced neutrality and barely concealed turbulence. They had seen the leaked photo. They had heard Roland Cross. They had received Anton's bombshell memo the night before, outlining Sabatine's new role and sweeping authority.

The air in the antechamber was thick. Jessica was there, a stack of legal briefs under her arm like a shield. Leon stood by the door, a silent monolith. Anton was a coiled spring by the window, his back to them, staring out at the city he had just reconquered. He wore a suit of charcoal grey so dark it was nearly black, a white shirt, no tie. The absence of the tie was a subtle, powerful message: this was not a negotiation of equals. This was a reckoning.

"He's going to eviscerate them," Jessica murmured, not without a trace of professional admiration.

"Deservedly," Leon grunted.

Anton didn't turn. "They think they're here to discuss damage control. To vote on whether I'm too 'compromised' to lead." His voice was quiet, lethally calm. "They're about to learn the only thing compromised is their judgement."

A soft chime announced the meeting's start time. Anton finally turned. His eyes found Sabatine's through the glass. He didn't smile. He gave a single, sharp nod. Watch this.

Then he pushed through the concealed door and into the coliseum.

The murmur of conversation died instantly. Twelve pairs of eyes—wealthy, powerful, anxious—tracked him as he walked to the head of the vast obsidian table. He did not sit. He placed his palms flat on the cool surface and leaned forward, his gaze sweeping the room.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly in the acoustically perfect space. It was devoid of warmth. "We have a great deal to discuss. But first, we will dispense with the elephant in the room. Or rather, the ghost you've been whispering about."

He straightened and pressed a button on the table console. The massive screen at the far end of the room lit up. It did not show financials or schematics. It showed the damning, grainy drone photograph. The collective intake of breath was audible.

"This," Anton said, his voice like a chipped flint, "is a felony. The illegal surveillance of a private residence during an active law enforcement operation. The individual responsible has been identified, and they will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of Swiss and international law. This image is not gossip. It is evidence of a crime. And its publication is an attempt to manipulate this company, its shareholders, and global opinion."

He let that hang, his cold eyes pinning each board member in turn. "Some of you, and your friends in the press, have chosen to interpret this criminal act as an invitation to speculate about my private life. You have entertained narratives suggesting that my judgement, and by extension the security of this company, has been… unduly influenced."

He paused, and the silence became oppressive. "That ends now."

He clicked the remote. The photograph was replaced with a clean, official-looking document—Sabatine's new contract and appointment letter, the title Acting Head of Global Security prominent.

"Effective immediately, Sabatine Stalker assumes this role, reporting directly to me. His compensation, his authority, and his veto power over all security and relevant tech procurement are detailed therein. This appointment is not up for a vote. It is a directive. It is based on one irrefutable fact: in the last seventy-two hours, Mr. Stalker has done more to secure the future of this company—and indeed, the digital security of the European financial sector—than this entire board has managed in the last seventy-two days."

A man named Pendleton, old money and older prejudices, cleared his throat. "Anton, with respect… the optics. Given the… personal nature of the association now publicly alleged, this appointment will be seen as the worst kind of cronyism. It undermines the governance we've worked so hard to—"

"Optics?" Anton cut him off, the word a whiplash. "You wish to discuss optics, Charles, while Evelyn Voss, your esteemed colleague on the audit committee, sits in a Swiss jail for conspiracy and treason? You worry about the appearance of my relationship while you were blind to the reality of hers?"

Pendleton flushed, shrinking back.

Anton’s voice rose, not in volume, but in intensity, filling the room with a controlled, righteous fury. "Let me be unequivocally clear. My relationship with Mr. Stalker is personal. It is also none of your business. But my trust in him is absolute, and it is the most professional conviction I hold. He uncovered a conspiracy you all missed. He followed evidence you chose to ignore. He risked his life to protect an asset of this company when others in this very room were profiting from its theft."

He began to pace slowly behind his chair, a predator stalking the perimeter of his territory. "Roland Cross and his ilk suggest he manipulated me. The truth is the opposite. He is the only one who did not manipulate me. He told me truths I did not want to hear. He forced me to see betrayals I did not want to see. His loyalty was not bought with a title or a salary. It was earned through integrity in the face of absolute corruption. That is the man you are now doubting. That is the expertise you are now sneering at."

He stopped, his hands gripping the back of his chair. His gaze was a physical force. "So, here is the new reality. You will accept this appointment. You will afford Mr. Stalker the respect his actions have earned. You will direct all security and related matters through his office. And if I hear so much as a whisper of dissent, of snide commentary, of ‘concern about optics’ from any of you, I will interpret it as a vote of no confidence—not in him, but in my leadership. And I will respond accordingly."

It was a threat, naked and breathtaking. He was not defending Sabatine as a CEO defends a valuable employee. He was defending him as a man defends his heart, his reason, his other half. The protectiveness was ferocious, primal, and utterly personal.

From behind the glass, Sabatine felt the speech like a series of physical blows—each one landing on a bruise left by Roland Cross. He watched the board members' faces—the shock, the fear, the dawning understanding that the Anton Rogers who had returned from Geneva was not the one who had left. This man was harder, sharper, and possessed of a cause that went far beyond stock prices.

A woman, Elara Vance (no relation to the journalist), the head of the ethics committee, spoke quietly. "Anton, we are all grateful for the resolution of this crisis. Truly. But this… consolidation of power. It makes some of us uneasy. The company needs stability, transparency. Not a… a fortress mentality."

Anton’s expression softened not a degree. "The fortress was breached from within, Elara, while we were having meetings about transparency. Mr. Stalker is not a wall. He is a keystone. He is the integrity we believed we had. And he will be integrated into every level of this company's recovery. That is the path to stability. You can either help build that future, or you can be part of the past I leave behind."

He let the ultimatum sink in. Then, he clicked the remote again. The screen changed to the first quarter crisis management plan, Sabatine’s name and new title embedded throughout the security overhaul sections. "Now," Anton said, his tone shifting to one of brutal, businesslike finality. "We will move to the agenda. Item one: the complete forensic audit of all departments formerly under Evelyn Voss's influence. Mr. Stalker will lead the briefing."

He turned towards the one-way glass. "Sabatine. Join us, please."

It was a command, a summons, and a presentation all in one. Sabatine’s heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at Jessica, who gave him an encouraging nod. Leon opened the door.

Taking a deep breath, Sabatine stepped out of the shadows of the antechamber and into the glaring light of the boardroom. Every head turned. The scrutiny was intense, a mixture of curiosity, resentment, and awe. He ignored it all, walking to the front of the room to stand beside Anton. He didn't look at the board. He looked at Anton.

And Anton looked back, his fierce, public mask slipping for just a fraction of a second. In that fleeting moment, Sabatine saw not the ruthless CEO, but the man from the elevator—terrified, determined, and utterly in love. It was a look that said, This is me. For you. With you.

Then Anton turned to the board, his arm gesturing towards Sabatine as if presenting the company's most valuable asset. "The floor is yours, Mr. Stalker."

Sabatine turned to face the room, the ghosts of his past and the poison of the press momentarily silenced by the sheer, defiant force of the man at his side. He opened the briefing file, his voice steady, clear, and cold as the marble walls.

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers. The audit will begin with a focus on asymmetric digital threats. The Volkov infiltration suggests a paradigm shift in corporate espionage..."

As he spoke, outlining a plan of ruthless, brilliant efficiency, he felt it. The shift. He was no longer the bodyguard, the investigator, the lover in the shadows. Anton had struck back against the world's narrative not with denial, but with a promotion so bold it was a revolution. And in doing so, he had forged a new truth in the fire of the boardroom.

Sabatine Stalker was here to stay. And he was here to lead.

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