EVACUATE EVERYTHING

Grayham's POV

I swear, if I made a dollar for every silly idea shoved down my throat today, I'd still be a billionaire — but at least I'd have earned it.

I slammed the bulging portfolio closed, the sharp crack echoing and absolute against the marble conference table. The papers inside soared like the worthless ideas they held.

"Is this what innovation has boiled down to?" I growled, my voice low and acrid, every word impacting like a bullet.

Silence.

Good. For at least they were smart enough to shut up.

I scanned the so-called executives standing before me — fat-paid, over-dressed cowards in suits probably more expensive than their spines. Not one of them was brave enough to look me in the eye.

"Your showing me a third-rate, warmed-over copy of a project we dumped seven years ago. And this time you've just renamed it to sound flashier and hoped I'd not notice." I allowed the words to hang. "Do you think I opened up this company by having the ability to know a rotten idea when I can smell it?"

Silence once more. The room was filled with tension laced with fear. Pitiful.

I shoved back my chair, standing up to my full height. "Meeting's over. Get the hell out."

They didn't have to be told twice.

Chairs scraped back in a frantic scramble, papers were rustled, and one by one, they scurried out of the boardroom like mice running from a falling ceiling.

None of them had the courage to look at me when they left. I didn't blame them — I wouldn't look at me either if I was on the wrong side of this table.

Once the last of them had gone, I let the silence hang. It was the only thing I trusted in this business these days.

Our bottom line was in the wrong. Eight percent. In my world, eight percent was not a loss — it was a goddamn bleed. To put the final cap on it, one of our biggest rivals had just unleashed a humanity-changing effort, a technology that was already splattered on every front page in the country.

And we had what?

Nothing.

No headlines.

No products that anybody gave a rat's rear about.

If this continued, the Most Successful Bachelor Award they loved to put on my name would be a joke. They'd laugh in my face, watching the empire I built slip away because my board of leeches couldn't think past their golf dates.

A knock at the door.

"Come in," I growled, already knowing who it was.

Henry came in. My assistant. The only employee of this whole company who never let me down on a daily basis. He did not duck from me. He did not stutter. He received his pay.

"Tough morning, sir?" he asked brusquely, holding a tablet in his fingers.

"You tell me," I growled, rubbing my face.

"I can have something that will put you in a better mood," he said, walking up to me.

I snorted. "Unless it's a scheme to replace my entire executive board with people who actually have functional brains, I'm not counting on it."

He smiled gently, tapping on the tablet before sliding it over to me. "Old property. Yours, technically. Long abandoned, but great location. Figured it was worth looking into."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Where?

“Outskirts of the city. An old Wilson storage site from the eighties. Abandoned after a fire. Paperwork vanished into the system. But legally — still yours.”

I picked up the tablet, studying the faded photo. A crumbling, graffiti-covered structure, windows shattered, paint peeling — the kind of place my people drove past without even registering.

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

"Just found it digging through files of old land titles. Buried, but fantastic site. Could extend our reach out there. New company division maybe — low-cost modular technology to untapped markets. Would be good press copy, boost figures, propel Wilson Industries above glass spires. Everyone wants a slice of tomorrow, sir. We claim it first, we get to tell the story."

I sat back, considering it.

It made sense.

A new business, a new territory — a means of tightening my hold on this city and making those bastards across from me know I wasn't playing defense anymore.

But then Henry hesitated.

He never hesitated.

"There's… one problem," he said slowly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"Someone's staying there."

I froze. "Staying there?"

“A man named Alex Kaden and his son, Miles. No lease, no legal claim. They’ve been squatting there for years — turned it into some makeshift community center and café. The place has become something of a local fixture.”

I stared at him. “And?”

Henry gave a slight smirk. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

"I don't," I said coldly, already envisioning my plans demolishing that eyesore. "Take me there tomorrow. Clear out whoever's inside. I don't care if it's their house, their church, or their damn playground as a kid. It's mine."

Henry nodded curtly. "Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."

As he left, I glanced back at the tablet.

Humans preferred to believe in balance that the world gave and took in equal measure. That there was such a thing as enough.

There wasn't.

The rich were always going to get richer, and the poor?

They'd still cling to crumbs, slapping each other on the back for surviving a world set up to destroy them.

And I was the one holding the shovel.

This was the game.

The only one that mattered.

Profit. Power. Control.

While the others were busy chasing inexpensive headlines and irrelevant awards, I was going to bury them all — one acquisition, one takeover, one ruthless move at a time. .

This was my drive.

Not family. Not legacy. Not love.

Money.

Because money had power.

And I was at the very top of the food chain, gazing down at everyone else battling over what I already had.

I was the storm they hadn't anticipated.

And tomorrow — I'd make them all remember who really owne

d this city.

That rundown building was gone.

And in its place — my next victory.

The city just didn't realize it yet.