Victor's eyes sparkled with approval as he clapped his hands together.
"Brilliant, Brandon. With NOA's resources and connections, the silent liquidation of our assets will be far more achievable."
He turned, locking eyes with his son, his voice filled with confidence and expectation.
"Can you handle the negotiations? Take Gordon with you tomorrow; his expertise will be invaluable."
Victor then shifted his gaze to Arthur, his tone commanding.
"Arthur, mobilize the Blackstone Vanguards. Victoria and I will start drafting the immediate plans. We need to be prepared on all fronts."
Arthur nodded sharply, already calculating the logistics in his mind.
Brandon could see the wheels turning in Arthur's head, each step meticulously planned out as only a Vanguard could manage.
This was a man who had dedicated his life to the Blackstone legacy, and now Brandon was about to step into that same battlefield.
The sense of urgency remained palpable.
Brandon knew he couldn't delay any longer; the next move had to be his, and it had to be decisive.
The stakes were too high for anything less.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady as he broke the tension.
"Speaking of all fronts, Dad, can I get a loan?"
The question hung in the air, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Brandon's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
Asking for money, especially in such precarious times, was audacious—even reckless—but he couldn't afford to hesitate.
Not now.
Victor arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"Go on."
Brandon took a deep breath, steeling himself.
"This crisis," Brandon began, choosing his words with care, "isn't just a threat—it's an opportunity. I have an idea that could potentially turn this curse into a blessing. But to make it work, I need capital."
The room seemed to hold its breath. Brandon felt his palms begin to sweat, but he pushed the nerves aside.
Victor's face remained unreadable, a mask of calm in the storm. "And you're confident in this idea?"
Brandon nodded, keeping his tone measured, even as his mind raced.
"There are risks but this could the start of a new era for our Blackstone name."
A silence fell between them, heavy and charged.
Brandon's thoughts whirled,
'I have more than 50million left after investing the 30million I committed to BMG, but that won't make a significant enough of an impact, this might be the moment that redefines my path in this life.'
Finally, Victor gave a slow nod, a gesture that held the weight of generations.
"Alright. Gordon will give you access to $10 billion."
Brandon's breath caught in his throat.
'$10 BILLION?! I'm not even sure off the top of my head how many 0s there are in 10 billion!'
The figure reverberated in his mind, almost too vast to comprehend.
He'd hoped for a fraction of that—maybe a few hundred million—but ten billion?
The stakes had just been raised—dramatically.
He met his father's gaze, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Thank you, I won't let you down."
Victor's eyes held his for a moment longer, then he simply nodded.
"The Blackstone legacy will be yours to uphold one day... I trust you, son."
[ NOA Headmaster's Office ]
Director Annabelle burst into Headmaster Alaric's office, her usually impeccable composure shattered.
Her face was flushed with anger, her eyes blazing with a fury rarely seen in the prim and proper elder.
"WHO WAS IT?!"
She screamed, her voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls.
Alaric sat across from her in his oversized headmaster's chair. He blinked owlishly behind his reading glasses, seemingly unfazed by Annabelle's outburst.
"My dear Annabelle, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, his voice carrying its usual bubbly tone.
BAMMM!
Director Annabelle slammed both hands on Alaric's ornate desk, her palms striking the polished surface with a thunderous crack.
The expensive mahogany splintered beneath her hands, fracturing like delicate glass under the force of her fury.
Alaric's eyes widened, his jovial demeanor faltering for a split second as he took in the damage.
The once-pristine wood now bore deep fissures radiating outward from where Annabelle's hands rested, a testament to a strength that seemed impossible for her slender frame.
"Don't play coy with me, Alaric," Annabelle hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The attack on my niece and nephew! On your grounds. How did this happen?"
*CRACCKKK!*
As she spoke, her fingers dug into the splintered wood, gouging furrows into the desk's surface as if it were no more resistant than soft clay.
The veins in her weathered hands bulged out, pulsing with an intensity that belied her usual calm.
Alaric's gaze flickered between Annabelle's wrinkled face and her hands, a hint of wariness creeping into his expression.
He leaned back in his chair, putting distance between himself and the seething woman before him.
"My dear, I assure you, if I had any knowledge of what caused such an incident, I would—"
"ENOUGH!" Annabelle cut him off, her voice sharp enough to slice through steel.
She straightened, pulling her hands away from the ruined desk. As she did, small splinters of wood clung to her palms, yet her skin remained unmarred, not a single scratch visible.
A tense silence fell over the room, broken only by Annabelle's heavy breathing.
When she spoke again, her voice was low and cold, each word dripping with barely contained rage.
"My niece and nephew's lives were nearly taken under your watch," she hissed, the air around her seeming to darken with the intensity of her wrath.
"Whoever's responsible will pay. In blood."
Annabelle leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing Alaric's ear.
She whispered in an ancient language, the words slithering out like venomous serpents.
Alaric's eyes widened in terror, his carefully maintained composure unraveling in an instant.
The color drained from his face, leaving him pallid and ghostly, as if all warmth had been sucked from his body.
His hands clenched the arms of his chair, the wood creaking under the force of his grip, his knuckles turning bone white.
"D-did he really..." Alaric stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Annabelle straightened, a predator savoring the scent of fear.
Her eyes, cold and unyielding, bore into Alaric's with a ferocity that made the air in the room thicken, suffocating him.
Her presence was overwhelming, a crushing force that made the walls seem to close in.
"You seem to have forgotten that they are his grandchildren," she said, her tone a lethal calm that belied the storm within,
"Your entire bloodline should be grateful that we've been colleagues for decades..."
Alaric shrank back in his chair, sweat beading on his forehead.
Annabelle leaned back, but the distance did nothing to ease the suffocating tension.
"You have one day to find the traitor in our ranks. One day, or judgment will come down on every last one of you."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, colder than death.
"You know what we are capable of."
Annabelle turned on her heel, the air seeming to lift with her departure, but the dread remained, gnawing at Alaric's soul long after she had left the room.