Chapter 3 — The Open Door

Near the entrance, a group of men sat around a table. Drake Voss was sitting at the center of the group. well-dressed and relaxed. The kind of relaxation that comes from having money for a long time.

  He was young. Not much older than Elena. Slim build. Short dark hair. An expensive suit sitting perfectly on his shoulders.

  They had been there when Harlan arrived.

  Harlan's constant behavior caught his attention in the bar but he never knew what is wrong yet.

  Then he leaned toward the man beside him.

  "What is wrong with that young man in a blue sleeve?"

  The man looked toward the back corner. "Harlan Carter. William Carter's only son," he said.

"Yes. He's the one I'm talking about. What's wrong with him?"

The other man lowered his head. "I can't say for sure."

A brief pause.

"Do you want me to find out, Young Master?"

Drake looked at Harlan again. Something changed on his face for a moment.

  Harlan's sister.

  Two years.

  Two years of chasing that beautiful woman and getting nothing back but distance and cold politeness. That had never left him. He was not a man who accepted being told no. Not by anyone. And not more than once by the same person

  "Find out what happened to him," he said to the man beside him.

  Two of his men walked across the bar and approached Harlan's table. "The young master of the Voss family wants to know what's going on with you," they said.

  Harlan looked up at them slowly. His eyes were not fully focused.

  "Not interested," he said. He turned back to his glass.

  They came back without him.

  But they had found out what happened standing there for a while as he kept talking to himself

  Drake listened to everything his men told him. He was quiet for a moment. Then he set his glass down.

  He crushed the last of his cigarette under his boot, smoke still curling from his lips as he pushed up from the stool. Took his glass of drink and crossed over to Harlan. He drew one chair out and sat down.

  "Harlan," he called, voice low but clear over the music. "Long time no see."

  Harlan looked up. trying to place the face. Not familiar. "I don't know you."

  "Not yet," he said, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"I'm Drake," he said calmly.

Harlan leaned back in his chair, suspicion tightening his shoulders. "You. What the hell are you doing here?"

Back then, when Drake had been pestering Elena—relentlessly forcing her to accept him. He had warned him to stay away from his family. To a point he had used the security team to harass him. Right in her office, they had bundled Drake out like unwanted trash.

  I heard what went down at your family dinner tonight."

  Harlan didn't answer. He just stared.

  Drake tapped ash into the tray. "What happened to you tonight wasn't right. And I'm in a spot where I can actually do something about it."

  Still nothing from Harlan. But he was shocked at how he got to know about it, but never showed it.

  "What if I told you I could help you take back what should've been yours?" Drake leaned in just a little. "The Ceo position. The whole thing your family owes you."

  Harlan went completely still.

  Drake gave a small smile. "Surprised I know? Or surprised I'm offering to fix it?"

Harlan stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on Drake. Then he flicked a dismissive finger at him.

"Listen," he said coldly, "I'm not here for your jokes or your bragging. And I definitely don't have time for your mockery."

Drake's brow lifted slightly.

"Jokes?" he repeated.

"Bragging?"

"Mockery?"

He reached for the bottle, unhurried, and poured himself a drink. The liquid hit the glass with a soft sound. He swirled it once, then took a slow sip, completely at ease.

"Kid," he said calmly, setting the glass down, "I'm not a comedian."

A brief pause.

"And I don't waste my time on nonsense."

His eyes locked onto Harlan's.

"If you still want that position..." he added quietly, "you'd better get serious with me. Right now."

Harlan looked at him, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand. "Get serious?" he repeated. He stayed quiet for a second, then finally asked. Curious. " And what do you mean by that?"

  Drake leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Help me with one thing. Just one. And I'll put you exactly where you were always meant to be."

  Harlan stared at this Drake whom Elena rejected, now acting all powerful before him. Part of him wanted to laugh it off. Part of him wanted to ask a hundred questions—how, when, why the hell should I trust you?

kept his doubts to himself. Looking at Drake now, the man seemed far more serious than someone just trying to bluff. Causing a spark of hope in him. If Drake really could help him, it meant there was still a chance to take that seat. If he fought for it with the right backup, the position could finally be his.

  "Alright," he said. "What's that thing?"

  Drake studied him for a moment. "Are you sure?"

  "I said alright." Harlan set his glass down with a sharp thud.

Drake kept it short and simple. There was a specific contract—the Meridian deal. Five billion dollars.

Harlan listened without saying a word until Drake finished. The weight of it felt heavy in his chest. That contract meant everything to his family and their future. It was the biggest win the Carter Group had ever landed, the one thing that could make or break the whole company.

"I need it," Drake said.

Harlan's head snapped up immediately. His heart raced, knowing how much he was about to risk. But he couldn't let go of that seat. He wanted the power too much. Slowly, he nodded.

"Just like that?" Harlan asked, his voice a bit shaky.

Drake shrugged, looking calm. "Yes. Bring it to me and leave the rest to me."

  He reached into his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper, a biro, and wrote the details, and slid it across the table. Harlan pick it up. Just enough details to identify it—names, numbers, dates. Clear. No mistakes.

  "No problem." Harlan folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "But you better keep your word."

"You can count on me." He said

  "Okay, consider it done," Harlan replied.

Drake tapped the cigarette against the edge of the tray, letting the ash fall. He took a slow drag, then exhaled—smoke curling out through his mouth and nose.

Without a word, he reached for the bottle on the table. The liquid sloshed as he poured into his glass... then into Harlan's.

He picked it up.

Harlan did the same.

Their glasses met with a soft clink.

They drank.

Drake set his glass down and rose to his feet. His gaze drifted off, unfocused for a moment, as if something had just crossed his mind.

  Elena... he said. Since you think I'm not good enough for you, don't blame me for what I'm about to do to you and your family. Even if the almighty War God himself came to San Francisco, he wouldn't be able to save you."

The thought stayed locked in Drake's head as he picked up his glass, turned, and walked out without another word.

  Harlan sat there a second longer, then pushed up and headed outside. He climbed into his car but didn't turn the key right away.

  His hands rested on the wheel. Questions buzzed in his skull—should he really trust this guy? Was he about to cross a line he couldn't come back from? Was he really going to do this against his family and the company?.

  He shoved the doubts down.

  This was his right. Elena had stolen what belonged to him. He was only taking it back.

  Harlan started the engine. The low rumble filled the car.

  He pulled out to the road and drove home.